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IN GOD’S GOOD TIME 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


That Man’s Daughter.” A Novel. Cloth, $1.25 
Her Blind Folly . . A Novel. Cloth, $1.25 


For sale by all Catholic Booksellers, or sent postpaid on 
receipt of price by the publishers. 


IN GOD’S 
GOOD TIME 


A NOVEL 

BY 

H. M. ROSS 

u 

ty^thor of “ That Man's Daughter/* 
Her ^lind Follv/* etc. 


¥ 


NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 

1907 



LIBfiARYof CONGRESS 


Two Cooies Received 

MAH 13 1907 



CLASS 4 XXc„ NS. 

nuir. 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1907, by Benziger Brotihers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Prologue 7 

CHAPTER I. 

The Faithful Joan 9 

CHAPTER II. 

“In God’s Good Time” 24 

CHAPTER III. 

The Story Joan Heard 43 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Wanderings of Silas Wasdale ... 61 

CHAPTER V. 

The Coming of Helen Dacre .... 77 

CHAPTER VI. 

Jonathan and David 92 

CHAPTER VII. 

“He Had a Grandson, Anthony” . . . 108 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Jessie Nugent and Others 128 

5 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PAGE 

The Prodigal’8 Return 144 

CHAPTER X. 

Roderic and His Father 159 

CHAPTER XI. 

And God Disposes 175 

CHAPTER XII. 

Poor Anthony! 192 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The Revelation 204 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Two Roderics 217 

CHAPTER XV. 

The End 231 


“IN GOD’S GOOD TIME.” 


PROLOGUE. 

In the daylight, when men and babes are 
brave; in the daylight, when the glorious sun 
makes all darkness bright — on golden July days 
or burning August noons, there was no spot in 
all Lestrange to make even a child fear it. It 
was a wonderful place, as all who knew it ac- 
knowledged; but there were uncanny corners in 
its dense woods, and the countryside were apt, 
at festive gatherings, to whisper of the gray ghost 
of the Hall, who walked the valley o’ nights, 
wringing her fleshless Angers. 

But no gray lady preceded the worst misfor- 
tune that had ever happened to aught of the 
worthy line. The night winds sweeping softly 
and tenderly from the south ; the gentle dew fall- 
ing softly and tenderly upon earth’s broad 
bosom; the peace of the deep midnight, and ever 
and anon the faint chirp of a stirring bird — these 
were the signs and omens that attended the 
thing of evil. Deep and dark lay the shadows 
about the grim old Hall, its rugged outlines soft- 
ened by the dusky blue background. Tall and 
white gleamed the huge gates that shut out the 
world from about Lestrange. 

7 


8 


PROLOGUE. 


The silence of the night! How cool it was, 
how scented, and how sweet! A night to dream 
of doing deeds of charity, and to pray for 
strength to fulfil them on the morrow. A night 
filled with the joy of perfect rest, when nature 
lies, not sound asleep, but drowsing, with a smile 
upon her lips, waiting for the dawn. 

And on this quiet silence of the night, on this 
gentle mood of nature, man needs must come, 
not in love, but hatred: on this soft stillness he 
must project his evil thoughts, his meanness and 
cupidity. Out of the tall white gates, barely stir- 
ring on well-oiled hinges, there stole two forms. 
'No words were exchanged: speech would have 
been dangerous. Side by side they stepped into 
the gloom of the winding path, and were lost 
therein. 

A little bird cheeped sleepily from out a neigh- 
boring tree, and then returned to her bird dreams 
of happy fledglings, whose tiny bodies were even 
then covered by her downy wings. There was 
no sign to tell of the crime that had been com- 
mitted; no sign to indicate that heaven, stooping 
above the earth God had made so beautiful, 
turned sadly from the sight it saw — ^no sign, no 
sign of this. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 

The young mistress of Lestrange looked up 
from her writing-table with an inquiring glance. 

Shall I take Master Roderic for his walk 
now, madam asked the bright-looking maid, 
whose entrance had interrupted her. 

‘‘Where is Joan?” 

“ Busy with Mrs. Angell. She said, when 
Master Roderic was ready, that I should take 
him out along the — ” 

“Bring him here,” said Mrs. Lestrange, and 
the maid withdrew. 

Her mistress shoved her half-written letter 
into the drawer hastily, and rose to her feet, 
pushing back her heavy fair hair with delicate 
fingers. 

“This can wait,” she went on, half-aloud. 
“Since Joan’s little nephew is so ill, I can not 
rid myself of this haunting fear. How foolish! 
But what if something should happen to the 


10 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH. 


child! No, no; I mustn’t think of that — I dare , 
not. God is good, very good. I have had enough 
to bear I ” 

There was a frown that would be hard to de- 
cipher upon her lovely forehead. 

Surely enough,” she said, under her breath — 
surely enough. I must feel so because the other 
little fellow was so intimate with Eoderic — If 
it should be a fever I And Eoderic — Now what 
a fool I am 1 ” 

Her sad thoughts were interrupted by the en- 
trance of the maid, who was preceded by a charm- 
ing little boy of about four summers. His 
mother held out her arms, and he ran into them, 
laughing. 

I’d much prefer going out with you, mother,” 
he said, with a grown-up choice of words that 
sounded strange on such young lips. ^^You let 
me do lots of things that Elizabeth won’t. Come 
on, mother!” 

He tugged at her arm, and the shadows disap- 
peared from her lovely face as she looked at her 
child — strong, healthy, ruddy — a picture to de- 
light any fond mother’s heart. 

^^Do hasten, mother. I want to see Tommy 
Lester, if you’ll walk that far — will you, mother? 


1[}BE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


11 


I want to show him that new kite Uncle Fred- 
eric made me yesterday/^ 

“My dear, have you forgotten that Tommy 
Lester is too ill even to see his little friend Eod- 
eric? Did you ask the Lord and His Blessed 
Mother to make him better?” 

“Yes, mother — last night and this morning. 
He’ll be better soon, now — maybe to-morrow. I’ll 
leave my kite upstairs, then — I won’t bring it 
with me, if you’ll come right away, mother.” 

Mrs. Lestrange took the confiding little hand 
in hers, and so they walked out on to the broad 
stone steps that led from the great door of Le- 
strange Hall down to the sunny walks and paths 
into which part of the grounds had been con- 
verted: a beautiful place, well cared for, mel- 
lowed by the progress of the years: designed, in- 
deed, to be Old World in style of architecture, 
but the freshness of the Hew had crept into it — 
indefinably, perhaps, but it was there. And these 
broad acres, and this great house, and all that 
it contained, were the property of the pretty, fair- 
haired, unconscious child, who was his mother’s 
image, and who looked up at her with the dancing, 
merry blue eyes that were as hers had been be- 
fore calumny and sorrow shadowed them. 


12 


TBE FAITHFUL JOAB. 


Some Tieavy oppression weighed upon her spir- 
its now. No slavishly fond mother, yet her ears 
were ever ready to listen to Eoderic’s gay chat- 
ter. Eagerly he urged her to hasten — ^wisely 
enough, young scamp! — for he knew that Joan 
might appear at any moment, and carry him 
away with her, putting an end to this jaunt with 
his pretty mother. She was not responsive — 
but stood, looking about her. Eor six years Le- 
strange had been her home. She had come to it 
a girl of twenty summers, the bride of a man 
double her age. She had come to it a butterfly, 
a careless, happy, unthinking girl, a little bit 
vain of the beauty that had won the richest and 
proudest man in all her set — she having naught 
to bring to him but that beauty, and the splendid 
heritage of good and healthy and honorable 
blood. Widowed and a mother, the affections of 
her heart repudiated and scorned, the victim of 
distrust which left a keener sting than sorrow for 
the dead does usually, she gazed about her now, 
and the memory of the last few years held her 
tightly in its grip. How she had reveled in the 
unexpected glory of wood and field, of bower and 
arbor, of brook and stream, and all the hidden 
delights that nature has to spread for those who 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


13 


seek her, truly loving her! Once more she saw 
her husband’s face, dark, grave, but very gentle, 
a light in his eyes that only she could bring there. 
And then his face came before her again — ^hard, 
unrelenting. How she had begged him to tell 
her the reason of this change! Without result. 

Oh, it was cruel — it was cruel ! ” she said, be- 
tween her teeth. How could he have believed 
anything but good of me? What had I done — 
what said? Money! What money can repay for 
lack of trust ? — and he distrusted me. What 
money can repaj^ for loss of love? — and he took 
his away from me. Oh, it was cruel, cruel ! ” 

The child was quick to read her moods, for his 
chatter ceased. After a while he spoke. 

You are thinking of father,” he said, gravely. 
She looked at him, startled. 

My son ! ” she said. 

Always I know it — when you look like that,” 
he said. And then after another grave moment: 

Mother, does father know ? ” 

‘^That I am thinking of him?” A quick 
shudder went over her from head to foot. ^^He 
must, dear — he must. Father was a good man — 
a true man, and he must know now. Little lad,” 
she went on, bending her fair head to kiss his 


14 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


forehead, ^Svhat a comfort you are to mother! 
For if father knows, then all is right between us.” 

He did not understand, but he saw that she was 
agitated. He caught her dress. 

Here is Uncle Frederic, mother,” he said, 
in a low voice. 

Somehow, young as he was, he felt that his 
mother would want to know of his Uncle Fred- 
eric’s approach. Again she started, as she rec- 
ognized the fact that her child, baby that he was, 
seemed to read her mind. But her features were 
quiet as she turned them toward the handsome 
man slowly ascending the broad stone steps. 
There was a conventional smile of greeting on 
her lips. 

Good-morning ! ” she said. Where have 
you been? I did not see you at breakfast.” 

^^No,” he answered; went out early. I 
called at Lester’s. The little fellow — 

Yes ? ” In spite of her self-control her voice 
quivered. The little fellow — ” 

He glanced at Eoderic, and the expression 
on his face told the mother the thing she dreaded 
hearing. A spasm contracted her lips. 

Gone ! ” she said, under her breath. Gone ! ” 
Frederic Lestrange nodded. 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH. 


15 


At two o’clock this morning.” 

Why didn’t they send for Joan? ” 

'^They were afraid. Yesterday Barker discov- 
ered that it was scarlet fever in its most malig- 
nant form. They asked me to keep Joan away.” 

^^No, no; Joan must go to them. We’ll try to 
manage without her; for what could they do 
without Joan?” She gazed at him apprehen- 
sively. ^^You — ^you changed your clothes?” 

Every stitch. Don’t worry about me, Claire.” 

I am not worrying about you^ she said, with 
a note of anger in her voice. ^^Come, Koderic.” 

What, without my morning kiss ? ” asked the 
man, very gently. 

^^Men don’t kiss. Uncle Frederic,” said the 
child. ^^Joan says so. And I’m a man — the 
only one my mother has now. Joan says so.” 

That’s right, laddie,” said his uncle, still 
gently. The mother’s eyes had filled with tears. 
"Yet your father would have wished you to kiss 
me if he were here.” 

"Would he, mother?” asked the child. 

Claire Lestrange hesitated ; then she delib- 
erately conquered herself. 

"Yes, dear. Kiss your Uncle Frederic.” 

With a bound the little fellow leaped jjito His 


16 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH, 


uncle’s arms, and clasped him tightly about the 
neck. His mother, with bent head, walked past 
them, and in a moment the man released the child 
and placed him on the ground, when he immedi- 
ately ran after his mother. As they went down 
slowly between the stately rows of flower-beds, 
it seemed to the man that Claire Lestrange’s 
slender, black-robed form drooped as might a 
flower languishing for lack of air and light. Her 
head was still lowered, and where the gleams of 
the golden sun touched it her hair glistened. 
Once she stopped to straighten her boy’s cap, and 
he could see the delicate texture of her hand as 
the light played upon the rings she wore. They 
made a beautiful picture: that mother, gentle, 
fair, sweet, her hair like an aureole about her 
lovely head; the boy, her counterpart in minia- 
ture, with all the innocence of childhood allied 
to the tender beauty of his face. Frederic Le- 
strange stood to gaze until they had passed from 
out his range of vision. 

How proud she is,” he mused, and how im- 
penetrable! But she is too strong — I could ad- 
mire her for that strength. Roderic must have 
been either blind or a fool to let suspicion enter 
his mind against her. She is a rare woman. If 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


17 


her religion did not forbid it — her religion! It 
was once mine! — I would marry her — in spite 
of— 

He did not finish, but he turned into the house. 
At the top of the first flight of stairs he met 
a stout, motherly-looking woman — a comely 
woman, with black eyes and firm-set mouth, 
whose black hair was heavily streaked with gray. 
She seemed possessed of no uncommon intelli- 
gence — there was common sense and cleverness in 
her strongly marked features. 

She stopped him. 

‘^You’ve been to the village, Mr. Frederic?” 

^^Yes, Joan.” 

" Perhaps thaPs why they didn’t send me word 
— they thought you would bring it? How is my 
nephew ? ” 

Tommy died this morning.” 

The words were a terrible shock. Her face 
paled, her bosom heaved, she grasped at the 
broad balustrade and stared. 

" How did you find it out ? ” 

I went in to see him — he was dead then. 
They asked me to tell you to stay away, Joan; 
but Miss Claire wants you to go.” 

must go — of course,” said Joan Lester. 


18 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


She was very white. They’ll want me.” The 
precaution, then, that had struck the mother- 
instinct struck home to Joan the faithful. 

What was it — do they know ? ” 

Scarlet fever. Barker says.” 

And you were there — ^you wore that suit this 
morning, for I saw you leave the house. Change 
it before you see Master Koderic — it might be 
dangerous.” 

He drew down his brows at the tone. 

I can attend to that,” he said, curtly, and 
passed on. ^‘It is scarcely necessary to tell me 
to be careful — my responsibility is a grave one,” 
he added then, looking over his shoulder at her. 

Joan Lester, in spite of the sorrow that had 
come to her, grew ashamed. Frederic Lestrange 
had, in common with his race, a charming sweet- 
ness of manner — doubly charming in him because 
of the wonted severity of his aristocratic coun- 
tenance. He waved his hand at her now as he 
passed on, or she would have apologized to him 
for her harshness. As it was, he left her filled 
with a feeling of remorse and compunction. 

But this was soon swallowed up when she had 
time to think of the misfortune that had befallen 
her brother’s household. 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


19 


Joan Lester was twenty-eight when her young- 
est brother — Tommy’s father — ^was born, and 
even then she had been ten years at Lestrange 
Hall. Koderic and Frederic, the two boys, 
had grown up under her watchful eyes, and it 
was Joan who welcomed the happy Claire to her 
husband’s home six years previous. She loved 
both men, with the love, almost, of a mother, and 
she loved Claire Lestrange for her sweetness and 
simplicity. Her own brother, on his marriage, 
had settled in the village below them to be 
near Joan,” and Joan led a thoroughly contented 
and happy existence until the first unhappiness 
came to Lestrange. 

Some one had been predicting evil. More than 
one country bumpkin asserted that he had seen 
queer sights in the Lestrange woods, and ^Hhe 
gray lady,” prophetic forerunner of disaster al- 
ways, had been observed fiitting from room to 
room, wringing her hands and moaning in the 
true ghostly way. Joan laughed all this to 
scorn. She had no nerves herself, she was brave 
as a lion. She wished, she said, that she could 
meet the famous "gray lady,” and she’d soon 
make a ghost in earnest of her. To substantiate 
her statements that there was no misfortune fol- 


20 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH. 


lowing on the supposed appearance of the vision, 
she called attention to the happiness of Master 
Roderic and his young wife. 

Only she of all in and about Lestrange — save 
those immediately concerned — knew that some- 
thing worse than death had happened to her 
young mistress. 

No one knew how it began. There was no 
quarrel; there were no complaints. But gradu- 
ally the husband began to ignore and slight his 
wife. Not before his servants, nor before the 
world — ^he was too much of a gentleman for 
that. But Joan knew, for Joan was part of the 
Lestrange family. She knew more. She knew 
that Claire Lestrange had begged on her knees 
for some explanation. She had asked him on his 
death-bed to tell her all, so that she might live 
to honor and cherish his memory. She had 
spoken wildly, for she loved him, and she felt 
that he was slipping away from her amidst a 
cloud of distrust. But even then, as always, 
he had turned his face away, dying, as he had 
lived with her the past two years, his coun- 
tenance averted . 

When his will was read, it was found that 
he had left his wife Claire an income of two 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH, 


21 


thousand dollars a year, to cease with her death. 
The rest of his property went to his little son. 
To his brother he left a handsome legacy, and 
in event of the child’s death all was to revert to 
him. He appointed Frederic joint guardian of 
the child, and his wife was not to be permitted 
to take the child with her if ever she left Le- 
strange. Her guardianship and care of her son 
ceased if she left her son’s home. While she 
remained there, she was virtual mistress. 

A cruel and an unjust will this was, but no 
one heard Claire Lestrange say so. Once, when 
Frederic Lestrange, annoyed by her cold man- 
ner, did something that conflicted with her or- 
ders, she looked him straight in the eyes. 

There is no provision in my husband’s will 
for your residence here yet,” she said, pointedly, 
scornfully. This is my son’s home, and as his 
mother I am mistress of it.” 

He had angered her, and she could be bitter. 
She had never liked Frederic Lestrange, and 
since her husband’s death she felt that she almost 
hated him. By every right her child was en- 
tirely hers. She had been a true wife, a faithful 
mother. She had loved her husband with all the 
strength of her heart, and, though she never 


22 


THE FAITHFUL JOAH. 


traced it, she blamed his brother Frederic in 
some way for the estrangement that had arisen 
between them. 

One great comfort was left to her in her be- 
reavement — the faithful Joan. Day and night 
Joan was with her mistress, and never left her. 
Day and night Joan’s tender care surrounded the 
little boy, son of Eoderic, the best loved of the 
brothers. But not even to Joan, in the sorest 
anguish of her heart, would Claire breathe the 
suspicion of her mind. 

So she was, a widow two years, with the grief 
that time should have begun to heal still heavy 
upon her. She distrusted Frederic Lestrange 
still, and his presence often galled her. But 
women have been martyrs for their children be- 
fore now, and Claire Lestrange bore her daily 
martyrdom in silence. None ever knew that 
sometimes she looked at her dead husband’s 
brother with a mad impulse to give voice to 
her suspicions. Mentally she questioned him; 
mentally she accused him. 

Perhaps this mental state of hers had effect 
upon him, for he, too, knew that, if it ever came 
Claire Lestrange’s day, she would not fail to 
use her power. Sometimes he grew afraid of the 


THE FAITHFUL JOAN. 


23 


strength behind those calm eyes and that calmer 
face. But not often. He was a strong man him- 
self, in more ways than one. 


24 


IN aOD’8 GOOD time: 


CHAPTEE IL 
"in god^s good time” 

After giving some directions to Mrs. Angell, 
"who was all right, bnt had no more head than 
a pin,” according to Joan, the good woman 
dressed herself and went in search of her mis- 
tress. She found her with Eoderic at her favor- 
ite haunt, a beautiful artificial lake, in the center 
of which played a busy little fountain, and on 
the surface of which three lovely white swans 
sailed proudly. 

Eoderic, who felt the irksomeness of restraint 
very much at times, being possessed of the spirit 
of a true boy, sat straddle-legged across the broad 
rim, his mother holding him by the waist, while 
he shouted with laughter as he fed the handsome 
birds, so tame that they ate from his little fingers. 

"Now, Joan!” he called out, as he saw her 
approaching them. "Now! See what mother 
lets me do?” 

" Mothers can do lots of things Joan daren’t,” 


IN G0D^8 GOOD TIME: 


25 


said the nurse, with a smile. It was a sad smile. 
She put her hand lovingly on his yellow head. 

‘^Kiss Joan, dear. She is going away for 
a little while.” 

‘^Thought you said men didn’t kiss? I told 
Uncle Frederic that, but mother made me kiss 
him.” 

Not this morning ! ” said Joan, involuntarily. 

^^Why, yes,” said Claire Lestrange, struck by 
the note in her voice. ^^He kissed his Uncle 
Frederic this morning.” 

‘‘And why not?” asked Joan, mildly enough. 
But she did not meet Claire Lestrange’s glance. 
“Now kiss nurse, lad.” 

He did so obediently. 

“I know where you’re going,” he announced. 

“Do you?” she asked, smiling. 

“Yes. You’re going to Tommy’s. Tommy’s 
gone.” 

Claire Lestrange and Joan exchanged startled 
glances. 

“He heard me say that to his uncle. If you 
wait a bit, dear. I’ll tell you all about where 
Tommy’s gone.” 

“I know,” he answered, confidently. “It’s 
Tommy’s soul is gone. He’ll have fine fun up 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


in heaven, won’t he, mother? Never mind,” 
brightening np, maybe I can go some time 
soon.” 

Pray God not,” burst from his mother’s lips. 

Would you leave your mother all alone?” 
asked Joan, quickly. 

The child-face grew grave as child-faces will. 
He lifted his blue eyes and looked at his mother, 
and smiled — a smile that hurt her more than 
any words could have done. Much shaken, she 
turned to Joan. 

“They will bury him at once, I suppose, on 
account of the danger of infection.” 

“Yes. As soon as it’s over. I’ll burn these 
things I have on here, and come home as soon 
as possible.” 

“Do,” said Claire. “You know how helpless 
I am without you. Take care of yourself. The 
poor little mother must be tired out. Bring her 
some wine, and I’ll send down a few things 
later with Harris. But be careful, Joan.” She 
smiled her sad, winning smile. “In all that 
great house,” she said, waving her delicate hand 
toward it, “my son and I have only you.” 

“God bless you, dear,” said Joan; for indeed 
she was trusted friend, companion rather than 


IN aOD^S GOOD time: 


27 


servant. God bless you, and don’t worry. 
Master Eoderic is in no danger — look at the fine 
body, the strong limbs.” 

Hush ! ” said Claire Lestrange. Tommy 
was even as he is.” 

And Joan went on her way, with much food 
for thought. No hint of evil would she permit 
to cross her honest mind about Frederic Le- 
strange. She thought he had forgotten the dan- 
ger of infection when he kissed the child, and 
that her words must have reminded him of his 
own lack of carefulness. But she was vexed. 

"It would throw the poor soul into a frenzy 
if she even suspected such a thing,” said Joan. 
"I am surprised at Master Frederic’s careless- 
ness. If the boy took the fever, he would never 
forgive himself.” 

She walked on briskly. 

" People might say he wanted him to catch it,” 
she said. " Well, no Lestrange could be guilty 
of a thing like that. He might be tempted; but 
honor’s in the blood.” 

Perhaps, in spite of herself, the thought wor- 
ried her, for suddenly she paused. 

"What good can I do Brother Eichard, now 
that the lad is gone?” she said, half-aloud. "I 


28 


IN GOD'S GOOD TIME: 


feel as if I^m wanted more at home. But it 
would look heartless, sure enough. No, I had 
better go.^^ 

Meanwhile Claire Lestrange and her little son 
went on with their pleasant occupation, the 
mother resolving not to lose sight of the child 
while Joan was away. She was surprised at her 
own sense of helplessness — of dependence. She 
had not known she had been leaning so on Joan 
Lester. 

truer heart never beat,’’ she said, ‘^than 
the faithful Joan’s.” 

^ Hi 

Frederic Lestrange went to his own room, re- 
moved his clothing, and donned a gray morning 
suit. There was a curious expression on his face. 

He was a tall man, with finely cut features, 
aquiline nose, well-closed lips, and an alert man- 
ner at times, altogether out of keeping with the 
general repose of his handsome face and the 
languid air which seemed to be habitual. His 
eyes were large and full, well shaped, extremely 
blue in color. He was a man more than ordi- 
narily attractive. In appearance, height, and 
build, he greatly resembled his dead brother Eod- 
eric, save that his skin was much fairer, Eod- 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


29 


eric having been quite dark. Often some play 
of hand or trick of expression made Claire Le- 
strange start, so much did be remind her of 
her lost husband. This likeness accentuated her 
grief, and more than once had almost overcome 
her. 

But for her innate and unconquerable mistrust 
of the man, they would have been excellent 
friends ; for Claire was cultured and well read, and 
her brother-in-law a man of attainments. He had, 
in fact, often grumbled a little at the exactions 
which the guardianship of his brother’s young 
child entailed. He had been planning a trip 
abroad for several years, and at the time of 
Eoderic’s unexpected death had had almost all 
his arrangements made. 

When Claire returned now, stately, proud, 
calm as ever, no trace upon her face of the worry 
of her mind, her hand still holding fondly her 
little son’s, Frederic Lestrange sat upon the 
veranda. The morning mail had been delivered, 
and he was reading his: he always had a volu- 
minous correspondence. 

Are there any letters for me ? ” asked Claire, 
more in an effort to be courteous than from any 
other reason. 


30 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


He looked at her, smiling. 

A number, I believe, but they have been sent 
to your room.’’ His glance became sharper. 
“ When did you say your friend Mrs. Dacre was 
coming here ? ” 

“ On the fifteenth of next month. Her hus- 
band goes to Italy on the twelfth.” 

had forgotten. On — the — fifteenth— Let 
me see.” He looked at the letter again. I 
won’t be able to stay that long, I’m afraid.” 

Her face expressed the astonishment she felt. 

Stay that long ! ” 

This is a letter from Professor Wey- 
andt. You remember, he was starting out on 
a tour of investigation some years ago — ” 

She nodded. In spite of herself her sorrow 
still had power to blanch her cheek. 

He gazed at her keenly. 

Just before Eoderic’s death,” she said. 

He nodded. 

^^Yes. He went to Syria. How he’s become 
acquainted with some Turkish chap who will 
bring him right into the heart of Mohammedan- 
ism. He wants to know if I’ll go with him. The 
prospect is alluring.” 

She made no answer. 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


31 


'"You will probably be glad to see the end 
of me, Claire,” he went on, in a softer tone. 

She raised her blue eyes to his face. 

^^Why?” she asked. 

‘'Ah — why!” He shrugged his shoulders. 

Why — in heaven’s name 1 ” 

It is immaterial to me,” she answered. 

'^Why should it be?” he asked, with sudden 
feeling. Claire, I’m going away — I’m going 
to take this chance, for Weyandt is a savant, an^ 
a daring man. Claire, you hate me.” 

“No,” she said; “I do not hate you, Fred- 
eric Lestrange.” 

“ And I tell you that you do.” 

She had perfect self-possession. On this 
ground he could not touch her: she was, appar- 
ently, absolutely without feeling. 

“ I do not hate you. At times you annoy me 
by a certain officiousness in regard to my son 
Eoderic. Generally, I am perfectly indifferent. 
It matters nothing to me whether you go or 
stay.” 

He winced. Anything colder than that cold 
voice would have been impossible to imagine. It 
pierced him in a tender spot. He would rather 
have hatred from any one than indifference. 


82 


IN QOD’8 GOOD TIME.' 


Before I leave here/’ he said, gravely, then — 
and once again his manner, his accents, the sud- 
den sobering of his features, brought a pang to 
her heart, they were so like her dead husband’s 
— before I leave here — there is a chance, you 
know, that I may never return — I should like to 

<Sr, 

ask you an honest question.” 

‘^Ask it now,” she said, still indifferently — 
as well now as any other time.” 

^‘You think I am to blame for the estrange- 
ment that existed before his death between your 
husband and yourself — 

Pardon me,” she said. You are becoming 
too personal.” 

An angry flame leaped into his blue eyes. 
Personal ! ” he said. It is personal, indeed. 
You blame me for that, and for the disposition 
which he — ” 

She raised her head, and smiled into^his face. 
Your pardon once more ! ” she said. What 
my sentiments are no one need know. What 
your surmises are do not interest me. Ask me 
those questions in your own mind, and answer 
them there — if you please.” She turned and 
walked toward the door, still taking her boy with 
her. When she reached it, she bent her face the 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME.' 


33 


second time in his direction. ^^Yon will oblige 
me by never referring to this subject again. My 
husband was a good man — I leave whatever 
trouble arose between us to the mercy and good- 
ness of God. In God’s good time, he and I will 
stand face to face, and know the truth.” 

In God’s good time ! ” 

Frederic Lestrange sat still after the door 
closed behind his brother’s wife and his brother’s 
child. His lids were half-shut over his keen blue 
eyes, his lips set, his nostrils only showing that 
some strong emotion swayed him. In God’s 
good time,” she had said, and the words struck 
him like a prophecy. 

What if it should be true ? ” he said, at last. 
'^What if there be such a thing as God’s good 
time, and the whirl of the wheel bring me back 
again to — what ? ” 

His hand clenched upon his knee, clenching, 
too, the letters he held in his grasp. 

^^In God’s good time,” he said again. ^^I am 
thirty-six — I am young, strong, handsome — and 
disappointed in all that life holds dear. Disap- 
pointed in this,” he looked about him, and in- 
cluded all Lestrange in that half-shut, sweeping 
glance — ^^disappointed in this — and in this!” 


34 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


He drew a letter from the three clenched in 
his grasp — a dainty letter, daintily written, 
penned in a delicate hand. He stared at it as 
if it were a living thing — and then, reaching into 
» his vest-pocket, drew out a flat leather case. He 
opened it and laid it on his knee. 

There you are, ma belle,’^ he said, in a thick 
voice — my beautiful, indeed. But what has 
Frederic Lestrange to offer you? as you ask me 
in this charming epistle of to-day. Love is an 
obsolete thing, and it will not pay the bills, eh, 
my dear? Not your bills, sweetheart.” 

It was a laughing face that looked up into his 
mocking one — laughing, irresistible, charming, 
with deep, beautiful eyes, pouting lips — a bril- 
liant beauty well calculated to stir the pulses of 
a man like Frederic Lestrange. One knew in- 
stinctively that those eyes were brown as velvet; 
that those lips were scarlet; that the whole face 
was of the brunette type, dashing, daring, alto- 
gether lovely — too lovely to look below the sur- 
face for qualities of mind and heart. 

You bit of gossamer,” he said now, you 
little, fluttering creature, one must pay for your 
gilded trappings if one would hold you. But 
you are worth it.” He laughed aloud : his breath 


IN G0D^8 GOOD TIME: 


35 


came fast. Fairly worth it, ma petite. If 
there be such a thing as God’s good time, let 
it find us together.” 

He rose as he spoke, and put the case back 
again into his pocket. The shadow had left his<^ 
forehead. His eyes were alight, his countenance 
pleasant to look upon. He looked satisfied with 
himself and with all the world. 

Claire’s moment had come when Frederic 
Lestrange so openly brought up the subject she 
had often prayed he might. 

Yes, since her husband’s death Claire had 
asked that her husband’s brother might one day 
ask her why she distrusted and disliked him. 
She had planned her answers. She meant to 
tell him why. She meant to show him her rea- 
sons, and prove beyond all doubt that it was he 
who had come between them, for money’s sake. 

She had had a clear case argued out. She 
would make him wince under her denunciations 
— she would tell him things he dared not deny. 

Now, her ice-cold fingers clinging to her silent 
little son’s, her limbs trembling, her head dizzy, 
now she went to her own room. She closed the 
door behind her, and sat down, conscious of 


36 


IN GOD^S GOOD TIME: 


great weakness. Her boy did not speak — he was 
his mother’s own son, and had inherited the re- 
pression of his father. He sat beside her until 
her limbs ceased trembling, and the color came 
back to her lips. 

Her moment had come and gone, and she had 
said nothing beyond those few words. Why ? 
Because, when others rose to her lips, some in- 
tuition warned her to refrain from uttering them. 
She was scarcely conscious of the words she had 
said, but she felt the ring of truth in them. 

In God’s good time, he and I will stand face 
to face, and know the truth ! ” 

She knelt suddenly. 

Come, Eoderic, get down on your knees with 
mother — and say this after her : ^ In God’s good 
time, he and I will stand face to face, and know 
the bruth.’ ” 

Obediently the child repeated it, word for 
word he said it after her. She buried her face 
in her hands, and began to weep, and he sat up 
straight, the tears running down his little cheeks. 
But he did not betray his sorrow by even a sob, 
until his mother glanced up and saw him so, with 
the big tears on his baby face. 

son, my little ^onl” she said, remorse- 


IN GOD'S GOOD TIME.' 


37 


full3^ “ Mother has made you sad ! Oh, forgive 
mother, my own boy, forgive her — she did not 
mean it/^ 

He looked at her solemnly. 

“ I hate my uncle, he said — I hate him ! 

^‘Eoderic!^^ 

I do ! — And when I’m a man and own this 
place, he shall leave it. I don’t want his toys, 
nor his old kite — I’ll send them back with Eliza- 
beth just as soon — ” 

Eoderic dear ! ” 

Mother, you’ve cried. And you’ve made that 
prayer: /In God’s good time’ — what was it, 
mother? See, I know part of it. But my uncle 
makes you unhappy, and you are too good to be 
unhappy — Joan says so. And Joan says no one 
ought ever to be sad, -because God loves every 
one.” 

‘^Yes,” she answered, humbly; ^^that is true. 
Joan is right. When God loves us, we should 
not be unhappy. You’ll think of that, dear. 
That God loves you dearly, dearly, and that it 
is wrong to be unhappy? Forgive your poor 
mother.” 

‘^It is because Joan is not here — Joan would 
not let you cry,” he said, with naive simplicity. 


38 


IN GOD'S GOOD TIME: 


“ Let me be Joan, mother, until Joan comes 
back/^ 

She smiled at him. 

Think how big Joan is — why, she’s grown 
up. And you’re only a little boy — you’re only my 
little Koderic.” 

He shook his head. 

“ I’m a man — J oan says so.” 

Joan, Joan, always Joan ! How indispensable 
she was to both of them, thought the young 
mother, tenderly. And then she wiped her tears 
away, and wiped her son’s round cheeks, and 
smiled at him, and told him stories and played 
all sorts of games, hoping in her heart that he 
would forget. He did not allude to the conversa- 
tion until she put him to bed that night. He 
slept in the room adjoining her own, and as he 
said his prayers, and brought up his hand to 
make the sign of the cross, he stopped and looked 
at her strangely. 

In God’s good time, mother — please let me 
say it.” 

A curious trembling seized upon her, so that 
her teeth almost chattered. 

^^In God’s good time, he and I will stand face 
to face, and know the truth!” 


IN GOD'S GOOD TIME.' 


39 


Again he solemnly repeated it with clasped 
hands, and then crossed himself. 

a funny prayer/^ he said, as he got to 
his feet. I don’t know what it means, mother 
— but I want to say it, because it frightened 
Uncle Frederic to-day — and because it’s your 
prayer.” 

She made no comment, because she saw then 
that the child was observant far beyond his years, 
and had extraordinary reasoning powers. She 
resolved that she would be more careful in the 
future of what she said and how she acted in 
his presence. 

She kissed him good-night and went into her 
own room. A half-hour later she tiptoed easily 
to the door and listened to his regular breathing 
— she did not like to go away until she was as- 
sured that he slept. Then she called Elizabeth, 
and told her to stay in the room lest he should 
wake and call her. 

He has been rather excited and nervous to- 
day, and may dream,” she said. If he cries 
out, Elizabeth, go in to him.” 

The girl promised to obey her, and Claire Le- 
strange went on downstairs, the long train of 
her black dinner-gown sweeping after her, and 


40 


‘^IN aOD^S GOOD time: 


her white arms and throat shining through the 
meshes of the lace that covered them. As she 
passed Frederick Lestrange’s room, he, too, came 
out. He was followed by a short, thick-set fel- 
low, whom he was evidently just about to usher 
to the door. He drew back as he saw his sister- 
in-law, screening the man with his body. 

You are late, as well as I,” he said, with a 
smile. ‘‘ I thought I should never finish — and 
was wondering if you were growing impatient.” 

had not heard the gong,” she answered. 
‘^How long since it rang?” 

A good five minutes,” he said. 

She went downstairs, hastening her steps, for 
she was the soul of punctuality. For all his 
haste her brother-in-law did not stir until she 
had disappeared. 

A close shave, that,” he said ; “ although it 
would not have mattered — she does not know 
who you are, and never will.” He laughed sig- 
nificantly. “ I hope our tour will be successful, 
and that we may succeed in coming out of this 
unscathed.” 

‘‘1 hope so,” said the other. He had a pe- 
culiar accent, a rather refined accent, which was 
not in keeping with his somewhat rough features. 


IN GOD’S GOOD TIME: 


4:1 


I shall do my best to make it a success. I don’t 
see any danger — it’s too well planned.” 

That may be. But the best-laid plans may 
go awry.” 

Of course.” They were at the door now, and 
Harris held it open. 

Give my regards to Professor Weyandt. Tell 
him I’ll run to town next week and see him. We 
can then make out a list of necessities.” 

^^Very well, sir. Good-night.” 

‘‘ Good-night, my man. Much obliged to you.” 
trouble, sir.” 

The short, thickset man moved down the broad 
steps, and Frederick Lestrange went to join his 
sister-in-law at the dinner-table. He was bril- 
liant of speech, and deliberately set himself to 
entertain her, putting aside all suspicions of un- 
pleasantness. In this mood she could converse 
with him, for here his. likeness to her husband 
was less apparent. Eoderic Lestrange had 
never opened his lips to say an unnecessary word. 
So she listened and replied. Later, at his re- 
quest, she played some of his favorite music. 
He was fond of gay and light things that she 
could render mechanically. 

Frederic Lestrange’s visitor did not go 


42 


IN GOD’/Sf GOOD time: 


straight down the path and out the broad gates 
as another visitor would. He walked, slowly 
until close to them; then, seeing that there was 
no possibility of his being observed, he plunged 
abruptly into a side path, and was lost in the 
darkness. 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


43 


CHAPTER III. 

THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 

Elizabeth stopped Mrs. Angell at the head 
of the stairs. 

“ Have you seen the madam ? ” she asked. 

About a half-hour ago. She went for her 
usual walk.” 

She should be back, then. Master Roderic 
was with her?” 

Master Roderic ? Of course not.” 

He must have been, Mrs. Angell. He is not 
in bed, and his clothes are missing. She must 
have dressed him herself, and taken him out.” 

Perhaps. She^s a bit worried since the 
fever’s down below.” 

Well, it won’t do him any good to be running 
around on the wet grass,” said Elizabeth with 
conviction. Joan wouldn’t have it, if she were 
here.” 

Joan! ’Twould be a godsend if Joan never 
came back ! You’d think she owned Lestrange.” 

Wouldn’t you ? ” 


44 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


Here followed a more or less interesting and 
altogether carping criticism of the absent Joan, 
who, if lenient in matters relative to herself, was 
uncompromisingly honest and just in the man- 
agement of Lestrange affairs. Hot even in her 
absence dared they relax vigilance, for her eye 
was as sharp as a needle, and she would know 
at once what had been done and what had been 
left undone on her return. So they performed 
their work with as good grace as possible, al- 
ternately praising and abusing her. But 
whether they praised or abused, they knew what 
was expected of them, and they did it. In sick- 
ness, Joan was a mother — devoted in her atten- 
tions; in health, she was a mistress of discipline. 

So, while they often said many things that 
sounded harsh, in their secret souls the small 
army of servants about Lestrange knew that 
Joan was indispensable — that they could not do 
without her. 

Claire Lestrange’s entrance into the house 
closed the interesting conversation. The cool 
morning air had brought a flush to her usually 
pale face, and her eyes were bright. At sight 
of her, Mrs. Angell went on about her business 
hurriedly. 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


45 


Elizabeth ! ” called the young mother before 
the girl could disappear. Isn’t Eoderic awake 
yet?” 

Why — madam — ” began the girl, pausing in 
some astonishment. 

^^It’s after eight,” said Claire Lestrange, look- 
ing at her watch. We mustn’t let him get into 
bad habits — we’ll have him a lie-a-bed, first thing 
we know.” 

She smiled, and was turning away when the 
maid came down the stairs with quick steps. 

"Madam, madam,” she said, "I thought Mas- 
ter Eoderic was with you. He is not in his 
room.” 

Claire Lestrange looked at her incredulously. 

" My dear girl, what is the matter ? Why, of 
course he must be.” 

" But, madam, his clothes are gone : that is the 
reason — will you look, please ? ” 

Claire ran quickly up, passed her, and into 
her boy’s room. The little white bed still showed 
traces of his small form: the pillow bore the im- 
press of his yellow head. The room was in order 
— there was nothing awry, but the chair on which 
his clothes had been placed was empty. 

could never have dressed himself,” said 


46 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


Claire Lestrange. Call the servants. Call 
Mr. Frederic. Look for him. Tell every one 
to see if he is in the house.” 

And then a trembling, such as she had only 
once or twice before experienced, seized upon her : 
her lips turned white. For the moment she 
feared that she was about to faint. She sank 
into a chair, and sat staring at the little white 
bed. In a second, it seemed to her, the room was 
filled with curious faces. She heard Frederic 
Lestrange’s sharp voice, high with anxiety. Once 
he spoke to her, but she looked at him with a 
strange glaze in her eyes and shook her head. 
She could only hear his voice, she could not dis- 
tinguish any of his words. 

“ Find him, find my son,” she kept saying 
over and over. Find my boy.” 

Later it turned to: 

Where is Koderic? Send for Joan. Tell 
Joan. He has gone after Joan.” 

They did — there was nothing else to be done. 
Joanns nephew had been buried the day before, 
and she was even then considering her return to 
Lestrange. The news that little Eoderic had 
disappeared was received by her with a scornful 
sniff. 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


47 


^^You don’t know where to look for the child. 
He’s a young scamp. Probably hidden among 
the bushes somewhere, laughing at the pack of 
you.” 

She said this to dispel the first horror that 
the news brought to her own motherly heart. 
A few moments sufficed to see her at her mistress’ 
side. The shock of that strained face was as 
great as the news of Eoderic’s loss. 

^^Joan’ll find him, dear soul,” she said, gath- 
ering the black-robed figure in her arms. Don’t 
worry any more — Joan is here, and she’ll find 
him.” 

But later in the afternoon she left her mistress 
— who had not touched a morsel of food that 
day — and went down to the library to Frederic 
Lestrange. He, too, looked the worry and anxi- 
ety he felt. There were black circles under his 
eyes — he was ghastly. 

^^Joan, I am going to call the detectives in, 
and have a general alarm sent out from the po- 
lice station,” he said, abruptly. The child has 
been stolen, probably, for a ransom.” 

Send for a doctor,” said J oan, briefly. 

That girl upstairs will either go mad or die 
if something isn’t done for her,” 


48 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


Frederic Lestrange sank into a chair, groan- 
ing. 

‘‘What has come to the house he said. 
“ Joan, I think the luck of the Lestranges has 
deserted them at last.” 

“Tut, tut,” said Joan, sharply. “The child 
has to be found — it must be found, unless those 
that stole it want to have its mother’s death on 
their heads.” 

“ I will give any sum for his return,” said 
Frederic. “ I would beggar myself willingly. 
I would give anything and everything. Joan, 
you know the servants — do you think they could 
be bribed?” 

“None of the servants,” said Joan. “There’s 
none of them is that kind. I know them all 
too well. Telephone for the doctor now, won’t 
you, Mr. Frederic ? ” 

“At once.” He rose mechanically — then he 
pushed his fingers through his hair. “ None of 
the servants, you say? Poor little lad — my poor, 
poor little lad! Where are you now? Joan, 
if I feel this way, what does poor Claire 
suffer ? ” 

Tears were streaming down Joan’s face — her 
bosom heaved convulsively. He looked fit her 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


49 


with a softened countenance, and, coming over 
to her, took her hand in his. 

And you, poor J oan, who have been mother 
to all the Lestranges — what do you suffer ? ’’ 
Don’t, Mr. Frederic,” she said, in a choked 
voice. ‘^Let me keep brave while that poor soul 
upstairs needs me.” 

^^Yes, yes,” he said; forgive me, Joan. You 
have been so long our bulwark of strength that 
I have forgotten you would need consolation. 
Dear old Joan ! ” 

He looked at her affectionately, pressed her 
hand, and crossed the room to the telephone. 
Joan returned to her mistress. 

4: H: * 4: 4: 

That night Claire Lestrange was stricken with 
brain fever, and the doctors — there were two of 
them — looked grave indeed. The police sent out 
a general detailed description of the missing boy, 
and one of their cleverest men came, and organized 
searching parties to scour all Lestrange and the 
surrounding country. 

They found Eoderic, as Joan Lester had ex- 
pected they would find him — dead. 

It was the little lake that yielded up the 
ghastly secret. His mother had been in the habit 


50 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


of going there herself to feed the swans, and it 
was Eoderic’s dearest delight to be allowed to 
accompany her. Without doubt, the detectives 
averred, he had followed her that morning — he 
was singularly precocious, and smart enough to 
dress himself — had played about the lake, wait- 
ing for her, and, becoming more venturesome 
through his familiarity with the place, had got 
up on the broad rim enclosing the lake. No one 
had been near to hear his smothered cry as the 
water covered him. And that was the end of 
the heir of the Lestranges. 

Joan, ‘heartbroken, with blinding tears falling 
from her eyes, identified the clothing — the san- 
dals on the swollen little feet, the clothing, half- 
buttoned where his baby fingers could not reach 
— the clustering yellow curls — all that was left 
of Roderic Lestrange’s beauty, for he had been 
a week in the water. They laid him out in a 
tiny white casket, and kept vigil over him — Fred- 
eric Lestrange, a broken man, who had grown 
worn and haggard under the strain, would have 
it so. The villagers came up to pay their last 
respects to the baby master, and to salute the new 
one. But they saw nothing of the latter. Fred- 
eric Lestrange was not visible, and the tiny 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


51 


coffin was closed. Upstairs, the white-faced 
mother lay, unconscious of her loss and near to 
death. 

It was a house of mourning, indeed. 

The boy was buried. The day after the fu- 
neral Frederic Lestrange ordered the lake to be 
drained, the swans removed, the fountain de- 
stroyed — all traces, in fact, of the scene of the 
tragedy to be wiped from view. He seemed a 
thoroughly saddened man, and the fact that Eod- 
eric’s death had made him master of Lestrange 
carried little joy with it. He had nothing to 
say, but prowled about corridors and halls, hang- 
ing eagerly upon the doctors’ bulletins. He sum- 
moned the greatest physicians he could find. 
Day and night he was ready to be called upon — 
even having telephone connections placed be- 
tween his room and Joan’s, which was next to 
his sister-in-law’s, so that he might be apprised 
of the slightest change. 

And Claire came back to life again — the life 
that held nothing now for her. From the very 
first moment she had dreaded the awful truth — 
its substantiation came with less crushing force 
than they imagined. She said nothing — only 
looked at Joan with anguished, tearless eyes. 


52 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


Thank God they killed him/’ was all she said. 

For that much I am grateful. He is out of 
pain, my darling — and with his little playmate.” 
She smiled — a smile more pitiful than loudest 
sorrow. In God’s good time, I too, shall go.” 

Thank God they killed him ! ” 

Poor Joan, filled with grief, her heart torn 
by a pain more keenly alive than was the sorrow- 
ful mother’s at that hour of her dumb awaken- 
ing, shrank as from a blow when she realized 
those words. Thank God they killed him ! ” 
Poor Claire Lestrange’s intellect had not yet 
righted itself, thought the faithful Joan. But 
how she had looked — how she had spoken! 

No, no, thought Joan, with quick self-condem- 
nation, she would not harbor that suspicion. She 
was needed now as never in all her life she had 
been needed — what if the horror of the past ten 
days set her mind, too, roving amid such dread- 
ful suspicions! 

Claire Lestrange fell asleep that afternoon — 
a quiet sleep, the first natural one since her boy’s 
disappearance. Joan Lester felt safe in leaving 
her to the tender care of Elizabeth, who had 
seconded Joan and the nurses ably in her efforts 
to be of use. So Joan went out to breathe the 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


53 


pure air of God’s bright world for the first time 
in many days. As she passed Harris in the hall 
he spoke to her. 

^Miller, the sexton, has been up here three 
times this week to see you,” he said. He 
wouldn’t tell any one his business— he wanted to 
see Joan Lester. If you walk down along the 
road, you’re sure to meet him now — it’s around 
this hour he generally comes.” 

^‘He spoke to me some time ago about that 
roof of his — and in all the trouble I forgot to 
tell Mr. Frederic it needs repairing,” said Joan. 

I’ll tell him to-day as soon as I come back.” 

She went on down the road, however, but there 
was no sign of the persistent Miller. She made 
her way into the village. The fever had disap- 
peared, no new cases had been reported, they 
told her. Her brother and his wife seemed to 
have partly recovered from their loss, and she 
spent a not unpleasant half-hour with them chat- 
ting about affairs in general, touching but lightly 
on the tragedy of Lestrange. On the way back 
she stopped at the church to say a few prayers 
for her dear lady, and on coming out met the 
sexton. 

He was an old man — a pleasant-faced old 


54 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


man, although his form was stooped and his 
head gray. He saluted Joan now — he and Joan 
were old friends — with a gravity foreign to his 
usual demeanor. 

How is Miss Claire ? he asked, after his 
greeting. 

She will get well,” said Joan, briefly. Har- 
ris tells me you were up to the house this last 
week. I forgot all about that roof — but as soon 
as I go back — ” 

He waved his hand. 

^^The roof can wait,” he said. ‘^What I’ve 
got to say has nothing to do with the roof. Joan 
Lester,” he went on, walking beside her, and 
forcing her to walk slowly to keep pace with him. 

I’ve known you a long while — a good many 
years. Almost forty, I think.” 

Almost forty,” repeated Joan. 

You were a good friend of mine. It was you 
brought me to Father Duncan’s notice first. It 
was you helped make my life the pleasant one 
it is. Joan Lester, it was you closed my poor 
wife’s eyes in death, and helped us all over the 
bitter, bitter grief of it.” 

Joan listened with some wonder. 

Why speak of this ? ” she said. God puts 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


55 


US here to help one another. A poor Catholic 
I’d be not to care for my own.” 

^^You care for the stranger too,” he said. 

Ah, well ! It’s no charity to do for one’s 
own — it is for those who haven’t the grace that 
is ours.” 

True, true.” He nodded several times with- 
out speaking. Then after a while he continued: 

To begin to tell the things you’ve done, and 
how you’ve done them in your own kind way, 
would be impossible. Tell me — ^you know that 
I respect and esteem you ? ” 

‘^What are you driving at?” asked Joan, per- 
emptorily. The gravity of the old man’s face 
forbade her to entertain any thoughts of levity, 
though once or twice she glanced at him as if 
to read what was in his mind. You have some- 
thing to say ? ” 

And I’m coming to it,” he said, imper- 
turbably. Do you imagine I’d do a thing 
would hurt you, Joan Lester, or cause you sor- 
row? Do you?” 

Ho,” she said, with frankness ; I don’t 
think there’s a soul in the countryside would do 
anything to hurt a Lestrange or one connected 
with them.” 


56 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


‘^^True; but I^m talking of you, yourself/^ he 
said, with persistence. 

Or I, myself,” she said, as gravely as he. 

Well, then, I have something to say to you 
that will, I think, startle you. It may cause you 
pain at that. I’m sorry to do it, Joan Lester, 
but I feel that it’s my duty.” 

Come, out with it,” said J oan, half -smiling. 

You can’t tell me aught that will hurt me now, 
Hugh Miller. I’ve seen too much misery this 
last two weeks, to let anything annoy me.” 

You remember,” he said, then, the day 
your nephew, little Tommy — one of God’s angels 
now, with the poor lad up at Lestrange — ^you 
remember the afternoon they buried him? ’Twas 
the morning after that the young master disap- 
peared.” 

Yes,” said Joan, I remember.” 

That morning, before any knew about the 
terrible happening up at the house, I was going 
through the yard on my way to the church. It 
was very early, and I stopped to straighten out 
a few plants, and to pick up some stray leaves 
that were scattered on the paths. When I got 
to little Tommy’s grave, I noticed something 
queer about it. I’ve had the job of grave-digging 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


57 


this last thirty years — IVe dug every grave for 
the parish, and is it possible I wouldn’t know my 
own work? So I stood looking down at that 
little grave, Joan Lester, and I swore to myself 
that it was not the work of my hands — I’d had 
naught to do with it.” 

^^Well?” asked Joan, impatiently. ^^Well?” 
studied it a while to myself — and tried to 
persuade myself it was all right, and put it out 
of my mind. But it wouldn’t go, no matter how 
I tried. I pondered it and pondered it. I’ve heard 
some queer stories about the godless creatures 
that go about digging up bodies, and they haunted 
me. So that night — ” 

Joan Lester had grown pale to the very lips. 
Her eyes were glued to the ground — she could 
not raise them. 

^^That night,” said he, I went out myself, 
and dug up little Tommy’s coffm.” 

Joan was trembling now. 

’ Twas heavy enough, and as I went to lift 
it I laughed at my own foolishness. But some- 
thing told me to keep on, and I kept on. I 
opened the coffin. I found bricks in it that they 
took from the yard yonder, but no body. Little 
Tommy was gone.” 


58 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD, 


In God’s name ! ” breathed Joan Lester. 

^‘In God’s name I’m telling it to you, Joan. 
The casket held bricks — that was all. I put it 
back again, filled in the grave, and sat down 
on the next one to think. To keep it to myself 
was the first thought — ^but how could I do that? 
’ Twould torment me forever. To tell it to the 
poor father and mother would make them fret 
a thousand times more, and what the grave 
covers is to be forgotten, or we couldn’t live. I’ve 
realized the goodness of God in that. So I wor- 
ried and worried till I thought of you, and I knew 
that you’d know what was best to be done.” 

Let me think,” said Joan, hoarsely — Let 

me think.” 

There was a horror in the ghastly paleness of 
her face, a fear in the light that had leaped into 
her eyes. Joan had been stunned before by sor- 
row and heartburning, but she felt that she could 
scarcely bear this. 

So they went on without a word. At last, 
as they were near Lestrange, Joan spoke to 
him. 

You were a wise man,” she said. I’m glad 
you told me this. We’ll tell it to some one else — 
Father Duncan. You go there to the rectory this 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


59 


afternoon, and wait for me. Do another thing: 
Write ont that story as you’ve told it to me, word 
for word — how you saw the grave, how you rec- 
ognized it had been tampered with, how you 
opened it and found the stones— that’s all. And 
Father Duncan and I will sign that paper, and 
put it somewhere that it will be safe.” 

So spoke Joan, decisively. She hardly knew 
what prompted her to suggest this, but that she 
was a woman used to decisive action. She 
wanted to have a grasp of things. She was a 
just woman, too, and she prayed, with all her 
heart, to be kept from judging others. 

Where are you going now ? ” she asked, as 
she saw that Miller made no offer to return. 

You may remember old Silas, who lived with 
his grandson in the hut at the end of Lestrange 
road ? ” 

‘^Yes,” she answered. 

He left the place — ran away a week ago, and 
left his grandson behind him.” 

Anthony? The child he seemed to be so 
fond of?” 

So they say. I am going down there now to 
see if it be true.” 

And if it is? ” 


60 


THE STORY JOAN HEARD. 


Eichard Lester told me to fetch the child 
back with me.” 

Ah ! ” said J oan, with a flush to her cheek, 
little Tommy was quite fond of Anthony.” 

Perhaps that is it,” said the old man, reflect- 
ively — perhaps that is it. But Dick Lester 
is a good man — and an honor to the parish.” 
Joan nodded. 

IPs a good thought — God will bless him, 
now that his own is gone,” she said, briefly. 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WA8DALE. 61 


CHAPTEE IV. 

THE WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 

It took poor Miller — he being more handy with 
a spade than a pen, as he said — the better part of 
the afternoon to draw np the statement as Joan 
had bidden him. So that he was not long wait- 
ing at the rectory gate when Joan appeared, 
breathless with hurry. 

^^I had a hard time getting awaj” she said. 

I hope you’ve not been here long ? ” 

About a half-hour,” said the man. 

^^And you’ve done as I bid you?” 

^^Word for word.” 

’ Twill keep your memory untarnished, may- 
be, when you are gone,” she said. Let’s get 
it to Father Duncan, now, Hugh, for I’m in sore 
straits to be back again. Miss Claire can’t bear 
to have a soul near her but myself. How about 
Anthony — did you bring him back with you?” 

‘^ISTo, I didn’t. ’Twas a lie they told: — I 
thought Silas would never leave that child be- 
hind him. He was too fond of him.” 


63 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 


Fond of him ! sniffed Joan, scornfully. 

He beat him enough, to show his fondness, then. 
It isn’t all love that makes him hold on to him. 
I don’t believe in beating myself — at least, not 
that much of it.” 

The child seemed to care for him.” 

“ Oh, yes ; he could be kind in a rough way. 
Good-afternoon, Father Duncan,” as the priest 
himself appeared in answer to their ring. I 
hope we’re not disturbing you? We won’t be 
long.” 

That’s all right,” said the priest, heartily. 
'^How is Miss Claire? I was Just going to Le- 
strange — I’ll be back with you, Joan.” 

That’s good,” said J oan ; but I think we’ve 
got something to tell you will give you a start. 
As for Miss Claire — she’-s Just the same as she 
was yesterday. God would be merciful to take 
her.” 

Don’-t say that, J oan,” said the priest, grave- 
ly. She could scarcely be spared.” 

I’m thinking it. Father — I might as well say 
it.” 

He did not reply. 

Hugh here has a queer tale to read you. He’s 
a bit disturbed about it, as well he may be, seeing 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 63 


that he’s an old man, liable to die off any day. 
He wrote it down, and will have you and me 
sign it, so that, in case the thing is brought up 
after he’s dead and gone, there’ll be no one can 
say a word against him.” 

Her eyes were fastened steadily on the priest 
as she spoke these words, and, although puzzled, 
he understood that there was more to the speech 
than was conveyed on the surface. Much grati- 
fied at Joan’s clever way of explaining the mat- 
ter, Hugh, without preamble, extended the writ- 
ten sheets of paper. Father Duncan turned to- 
ward the light, and began to read, while Joan 
and the sexton waited. 

The priest made no comment: perhaps the ex- 
pression of Joan’s face warned him not to do so. 

You swear that this is the truth ? ” he asked, 
when he had finished. 

‘‘1 swear to every word of it,” said Miller. 

He signed it then in their presence, and Joan 
Lester and Philip Duncan affixed their signa- 
tures. 

Let it rest between us,” said the priest, grave- 
ly. We’ll make no fuss about it at all. It 
will surely come out in time — and, in any event, 
you are blameless.^^ 


64 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 


^^Joan Lester has the head and brains of a 
man/^ declared Miller, admiringly. 

“Many a man might be glad of them,^^ said 
the priest. “Now, Joan, if you’re ready — 

“All ready. Father.” 

He took his hat and his walking-stick, and fol- 
lowed her out into the road. 

They walked slowly. At the corner Hugh 
Miller left them, and then Joan, for all her 
hurry, did not increase her pace. Instead she 
talked earnestly, and in a positive fashion, laying 
her hand more than once on the priest’s arm to 
emphasize her words. 

“So Joan Lester has a new mission,” he said, 
with a half -smile, as he turned in the great gates 
of Lestrange. “ Poor Joan ! If people did one- 
quarter of the good you do, this world would be 
a paradise.” 

“Nonsense, Father,” said Joan, but she did 
not look displeased. “You agree, then, that I 
may be right ? ” 

“I agree that you may be right — ^yes. But 
possibility is not to be admitted. You must 
prove you’re right.” 

She hesitated. 

“ God knows,” she said, “ but I am afraid. I 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 65 


would almost wish that I am wrong. I hope 
time will show that I am wrong.” 

I too,” said the priest, gravely. Save that 
God knows best.” Then he added, looking at 
her in a friendly fashion : Every morning of 
my life I shall remember you and your new mis- 
sion, Joan.” 

Thank you. Father,” she answered with grati- 
tude. 

:ic 4: 9ic H: 4: 

When old Silas,” as the villagers of Le- 
strange — who disliked and avoided him — called 
him, made up his mind to move, he did not hesi- 
tate long about the manner of his going. There 
was nothing in his wretched little cabin, with its 
bare two rooms, that was worth transporting. So 
that, when he placed the tattered red cap with its 
drooping tassel on little Anthony’s head and 
roughly bade him follow him, he was taking with 
him the only thing that had ever been of value — 
his grandson. 

More than once the little feet loitered on the 
lonely way, for he was not used to traveling long 
distances. But when Silas spoke to him he 
seemed to shiver as with fear and strive to keep 
up with the man’s longer stride. At last, how- 


66 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 

ever, his strength failed him, and not even fear 
could help him on. He sank to the ground, and 
with a muttered rough word — from which the 
little fellow shrank as from a blow — Silas stooped 
and raised him in his arms. He was a light 
weight, and Silas pretty strong for all his three- 
score years and five, so that they were able to 
travel many a mile before the old man^s arms 
grew tired. And then he made the child climb 
up on his shoulders, pickaback fashion, and hold 
him about the neck. Pretty soon the grasp of 
the small arms relaxed, and the weary boy fell 
sound asleep in his strange position. The man 
smiled grimly, but not unkindly, and tightened 
his hold. 

’Twill be a long day before you’re able to 
do as much for me, my lad,” he said, with sour 
humor, and kept plodding on in the selfsame 
way. 

He put many and many a mile between him 
and Lestrange. At night they slept in neigh- 
boring farmhouses; in the daytime they trudged 
along, assisted now and then by an obliging 
farmer who gave them a lift in his wagon. 
Through prosperous cities and towns far more 
populous than Lestrange had been they went — 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 67 


^^the beggar man and the child/’ as the people 
called them at first. But Silas Wasdale was no 
beggar, for he had paid his way cheerfully 
enough, and had no word of objection at any 
price they asked for his necessities, nor did he 
solicit alms. In one of the cities he went into 
a general store, and bought an outfit for him- 
self and Anthony that made them both appear 
more respectable. So that after that they were 
not looked upon as beggars, but as a respectable 
old workman and his grandson — the man forced 
to leave the town in which he had lived because 
the mills were shut down, and who was going now 
in quest of employment to one who was his 
friend. People made him welcome, for he was 
none so bad-looking, and gave him shelter gladly 
when they heard this plausible story. 

It seemed to be Silas Wasdale’s whole am- 
bition to put as many miles as he could between 
himself and the place he had left — and he suc- 
ceeded, for no one in Abneyville had ever heard 
the name Lestrange. The night he reached Ab- 
ne3rville the child’s face was strangely flushed and 
his eyes bright with fever. He seemed so ill that 
Silas would not wait to penetrate farther into 
the village, but knocked for admission at the 


68 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 

door of a house singularly resembling the poor hut 
he had left behind him at Lestrange. The face 
that blinked out at him was very much like his 
own, also, and, when he stepped across the thresh- 
old, the candle almost fell from the other man’s 
grasp. 

Silas ! ” he said. 

^^How do you do. Brother Bernard? I am 
come to stop with you a bit — and I have brought 
with me the only one left of my son Anthony’s 
children.” 

You are welcome, brother,” said the other, 
^^you and Anthony’s son.” 

How is Susan ? ” asked Silas, carelessly. 

The same as ever,” was the reply. Susan, 
Susan, woman — here is brother Silas back from 
his wanderings, come in to stay with us this 
night.” 

^^No need to tell me how long I am to stay,” 
said Silas Wasdale, with a sour smile. "If I 
stay. I’ll pay my score; and if I don’t like my 
lodging, I shall go to where I will like it 
better.” 

" You have fared well, then ? ” asked the other, 
cautiously. 

" So well that you would begrudge me my good 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 69 


fortune/^ answered Silas. Ah, Susan ! I^m 
glad to see my brother Bernard’s wife. You have 
not changed for the better in twenty years.” 

^^Nor has your tongue, I’ll warrant,” was the 
caustic rejoinder of the woman who now put 
in an appearance from the inner room. “ It’s 
like a brother of Bernard Wasdale’s to come rout- 
ing honest folk from their beds at this ungodly 
hour.” 

Hist, woman ! He’d rather come to his own 
than to an inn,” said Bernard. 

True — for the inn demands a reckoning,” 
returned Susan Wasdale. She was a bent old 
woman, clad in a faded calico wrapper, and with 
a whisp of gray hair drawn into an unsightly 
knob on the back of her head. Her eyes were 
sharp and glittering, and of a color hard to de- 
scribe. She stood now, repellant of face, with 
arms akimbo. She had no use for men who came 
as she suspected Silas Wasdale had come. 

But Silas dove down into his pocket and drew 
up a coin — and at sight of the color of it her eyes 
sparkled. 

^'This will change your tune, good sister 
Susan,” he said. ''Make a hot drink for the 
child, and get me something to eat. My head 


70 WANDERiNas OF SILAS WASDALE. 


is swimming from lack of food — and the child 
is sick.” 

^^That he is,” said Susan, as she deftly pock- 
eted the coin. Stooping down, she took the child 
in her arms. ^ Tis a fever that will cause his 
death if something isn’t done for him. Was 
there a sickness in any of the towns you passed 
through ? ” 

don’t know,” said Silas, almost sullenly. 
‘‘^If there were, I think I have it, too. I am 
chilled to the bone, and yet my face is burning. 
Get me something to drink and to eat — perhaps 
it will pass away.” 

But it did not pass. The next day old Bernard 
Wasdale went in to the town for a doctor, and 
brought him out with him. The physician found 
that both child and man had contracted a malig- 
nant fever, although the man’s was only a slight 
attack. He would be around in a few days, said 
the doctor; but the child — 

He was not sure of him. If he had parents, 
it would be better to send for them. But he had 
no one, said Silas Wasdale. His father had been 
lost at sea, and his mother had died giving him 
birth. There had been four other children, but 
they had drifted away. Only he had taken the 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WA8DALE. 71 


baby, because it seemed a shame to have one so 
small and helpless dependent upon strangers. 

It was this terse account, probably, that made 
the good man take such a tireless interest in the 
case. Twice a day saw him trudging along to 
the old hut, and when the crisis came he never left 
it. He listened to the child’s ravings, and his 
heart was very tender, for he felt that Silas Was- 
dale really loved his grandchild. 

Almost by force the boy was pulled back from 
the gates of death, and until all danger was past 
the doctor kept up his unremitting care. When 
it was over, Silas asked him for his bill, but he 
laughed it aside. 

We’ll count that paid,” he said. “ I guess you 
can ill afford unnecessary expense. Buy the lad 
some clothes with it when he is able to run about, 
and send him round to see me.” 

wish he’d let us have the child,” he said 
to his wife, that night. 

Edward ! ” she exclaimed. With five of our 
own ! ” 

'^My dear, he’d fit splendidly between Jessie 
and Eegine. It seems odd to see two girls fol- 
lowing each other,” said he, with a twinkling eye. 

You have three boys,” she said. I think 


72 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 

you’d adopt every stray child came along, as well 
as every stray dog. I don’t mind the dogs, al- 
though you have a yard full now. But I draw 
the line at children.” 

“You’d give to a dog what you’d refuse a 
child?” he asked. 

“What nonsense! Aren’t five children enough 
to keep in clothes and at school? Why, Edward 
— you are surely joking!” 

“I’m not, my dear. I really meant it. But 
of course you’re right.” 

He sighed and changed the subject. In the 
course of a week Silas Wasdale’s grandson was 
able to sit up, and he began to take a languid in- 
terest in things. The doctor brought him some 
oranges and a picture-book, and he was gratified 
to see how eagerly Anthony ate the one and pored 
over the other. 

“Have you come any great distance?” he asked 
Silas, when he was ready to leave. 

“ Yes. The mills in which I was employed shut 
down. I came from Lowell originally — I’m going 
back again. A man there has promised me work.” 

It was the story he had been repeating in every 
town — it came mechanically now. He had actu- 
ally persuaded himself that it was true. 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 73 


The doctor stared reflectively at the man 
through his glasses. He was not a bad-looking 
man; hair iron-gray, face seamed and wrinkled, 
his skin the ruddy hue of a man used to outdoor 
work. He did not look like one who would care 
to live indoors or had been accustomed to an in- 
door life. 

You are going on, then ? asked the physician. 

Just as soon as the child is better, answered 
the man. 

“ It seems a pity not to have the child in a good 
home,^’ said Dr. Nugent, turning his face toward 
the bed. ^‘1 suppose, now, you wouldn^t like to 
leave him here ? 

Susan and Bernard would hardly like him 
trapesin’ round them,” said Silas Wasdale, grimly. 

No; I shouldn’t suppose they would,” said Dr. 
Nugent. have five of my own — ^he’d be wel- 
come to his bite with them.” 

He’s not a bad-looking child,” said Silas Was- 
dale ; and he’s my Anthony’s youngest. If he 
was ugly and crooked, he’d be the same to me — 
but he wouldn’t be that to other people.” 

Dr. Nugent read rejection and rebuke in those 
words. 

“ My dear man,^’ he said, hastily, I daresay 


74 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 


you’re right. The child’s face does attract me, 
and doubtless he is more to you than he could 
ever be to me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

^^You didn’t hurt me,” said Silas Wasdale. 
I’m not the kind that’s easy hurt. When I have 
to say a thing, I say it, and done with it.” 

That’s right,” said Dr. Nugent. After a few 
more words he went away. 

What, therefore, was his astonishment a week 
later to discover that Silas Wasdale had left his 
brother’s to continue his journey, leaving the little 
boy behind him. 

‘^He didn’t think the lad was well enough to 
travel yet,” said Bernard to the surprised doctor. 

So we’re to send him on to him as soon as he’s 
settled. We’ll hear from him, he says, in a week 
or ten days.” 

‘^Meanwhile,” put in Susan Wasdale, sharply. 
We’re to have an eye on the child and take good 
care of him, and keep him in his proper place, and 
away from them that would be putting nonsense 
into his head — trying to steal him from his own.” 

<^My good woman,” said the physician, ^^he 
would belong to no one this day if I had not 
exerted all my efforts to preserve his life. I gave 
him the care and attention I would give my son. 


WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 75 

So, if you mean that word stealing for me. I’ll 
thank you to take it back again.” 

'•'^Well,” she muttered, ^^you wanted him.” 

Not from those that are entitled to him,” he 
said, “which you are not. I’ll keep a watch on 
this child, remember, and, if anything happens 
to him in your care. I’ll have the town authorities 
put in a word or two.” 

He spoke hotly, turning on his heel then, and 
leaving the miserable dwelling. But he had cowed 
even the bad-tempered Susan. That night he told 
the whole story to his patient wife. 

“My dear Ned,” she admonished, raising a 
warning finger, “what was it I said to you the 
other day ? ” 

“ Oh, I know ; but if you saw the child, dear, 
you wouldn’t blame me. He’s like a flower — a 
beautiful flower. The most wonderful eyes ! Such 
a refined face! Features almost classically per- 
fect ! Limbs that are models I ” 

“Ned Nugent,” she said, solemnly, “you have 
three as handsome boys as ever lived.” 

“ Felicia Nugent, I know it. Don’t worry. But 
just listen. Bring him some fruit yourself to- 
morrow, and take a look at him. Do, there’s a 
treasure of a woman. Now, I’m not asking you 


76 WANDERINGS OF SILAS WASDALE. 

to do anything terrible, am I? Just take a look 
at him/^ 

What in the world is the use ? 

dear, only go to see him. Is that any- 
thing?’^ 

"No — 0 — 0,” she admitted, reluctantly. 

"You know, I’d like you to come home and 
say, ^ Well, Ned, I don’t blame you.’ ” 

She put her hand up to his brown head and 
pulled it down toward her. 

"You know how much I’d llame you,” she 
said. "I firmly expected to see that child walk 
in here with you the other day — and was a bit 
disappointed that he didn’t. Now that it’s all 
over, I’m glad that you were wise — that you didn’t 
give in to temptation — for I should never have 
been able to resist.” 

Dr. Nugent looked at her. 

" I’m afraid — I’m afraid I did try to get him — 
only the grandfather wouldn’t give him up.” 

"I thought so.” Then she kissed him on the 
forehead. " Neddy, your heart’s too big for your 
body — and you could hide every penny you make 
in a comer of it.” 

" I’m sorry,” he said, remorsefully, " but I can’t 
ever remember, Felicia.” 


THE COMING OF HELEN DAVRE, 


77 


CHAPTER V. 

THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 

Frederic Lestrange, as soon as his sister-in- 
law was on the road to recovery, felt that he had 
done everything that could be expected from a 
man in his position. Urgent letters came from 
Professor Weyandt every day. The savant had 
already delayed his departure a week, for Fred- 
eric Lestrange had written to him begging him 
to make all arrangements for him as he was ma- 
king them for himself, and that he would posi- 
tively join him when the time arrived. So, now. 
after the professor’s last somewhat curt note, Fred- 
eric Lestrange begged Joan to ask Claire to see 
him. 

Inexpressibly sad, inexpressibly fragile, looked 
the young woman who raised her pale face to greet 
him on his entrance into the room. The door 
of the inner apartment stood open — and through 
it could be seen the small white bed which had 
been the dead boy’s, arranged as if its owner were 
but away for a brief spell, and would return to 


78 THE COMIHQ OF HELEN DACRE. 

occupy it. The chair to which Claire Lestrange 
motioned her husband’s brother was placed so that 
a full view might be obtained of that room which 
would never again know the joy of her son’s pres- 
ence. Frederic Lestrange sat down. On his face 
there was an expression of keenest sympathy. He 
glanced through at the little bed, and started — 
then he brought his blue eyes to her white counte- 
nance. 

^^Is it well always to have that sight before 
you ? ” he asked, in a softly modulated tone. She 
followed the gesture of his hand, and smiled. 

It is my only comfort,” she said. And the 
sound of her voice startled him. 

When her husband died, the sense of the in- 
justice which he had done her dulled the keener 
edge of grief, though, paradoxical as it may seem, 
this injustice helped to keep that grief alive. She 
had truly loved Koderic Lestrange. She had es- 
teemed and respected him when she married him, 
and this respect and esteem had grown into the 
love that is a wife’s dearest treasure — a love hal- 
lowed and sanctified by the coming of their child. 
Old memories were sweet. Her husband’s joy 
when Koderic was born, his tenderness, his out- 
bursts of affection, were cherished in her heart of 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 


79 


hearts. On this love a cloud had fallen. Through 
no fault of hers he had turned away from her. 
Through no fault of hers he had died with the 
secret of his estrangement hidden in his breast. 

But she had had her child, her Eoderic. The 
child looked to her for comfort, and she poured 
out the injured tenderness of a true woman’s soul 
on the beautiful golden head. The maternal in- 
stinct kept hope alive in her — love for her dear 
son helped to carry her over the dreadful fact 
of his father’s death. 

But now he, too, was gone, and she was left — 
this time without hope. Her boy, whom she had 
watched growing into a beautiful childhood from 
helpless infancy; her boy, who had looked at her 
so gravely and so wisely; her mischievous boy, 
as full of pranks as any healthy lad might be; 
her child, who had been hers, and hers alone — ^hers 
exclusively, in feeling and in thought — he was 
gone, and she was left. 

No wonder, then, that Frederic Lestrange 
looked at her curiously. She had lost something 
from her life which would never return to it. 

Claire,” he said, much moved, believe me, 
no one feels more for you in this sad bereavement 
than I.” 


80 THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE, 

She bent her head: her eyes were on his face, 
studying him, but he bore the scrutiny well. 

I dared not leave — I would not leave until 
assured of your safety. Now that it is assured, 
Claire, I am going on my journey — long antici- 
pated, often deferred, but here at last. I do not 
know how long I shall be away,’’ he hesitated. 

It is to be a honeymoon as well.” 

" You are to be married? ” 

Yes. Very quietly — to Judith Howard.” 

She was silent a few moments — then, without 
altering her tone, she said: 

I wish you both great happiness.” 

Thank you, Claire.” 

He waited — when she did not speak again, he 
plunged rapidly into speech. 

There are many places my wife can not ac- 
company me; but she is a daring spirit, and will 
risk much to be with me everywhere. We will 
be away two years at least. Yesterday Helen 
Dacre wrote to me. She inquired about you, 
asking me as a personal favor to her to tell her 
how you were, and if the presence of a friend now 
would not bring you relief. She had refrained 
from coming before, although she had intended 
to stay with you from the fifteenth of last month, 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 


81 


you remember. I answered that there was no 
doubt that her visit at this time would prove bene- 
ficial, and you will probably see her here to- 
morrow. Have I done right, Claire?’^ 

I am in no condition to entertain visitors,” 
said Claire, briefly. 

Helen Dacre will ask or expect very little 
attention.” 

I know that. But I am leaving Lestrange.” 
‘^Leaving Lestrange!” He looked at her in 
undisguised astonishment. Claire, I did not an- 
ticipate such an action — at least not yet. Judith 
and I will not come back for some years, and I 
doubt very much if she will care to settle down 
here. The Hall will scarcely be to her taste save 
during the summer months. I had hoped that 
you would remain here, and act as chatelaine.” 

You are most kind and thoughtful,” she made 
answer, gravely. ^‘But Lestrange is yours, and 
I do not care to remain in it.” 

Claire, you are unjust — ^you are cruel to allow 
a prejudice — 

She smiled. 

Do not call it that. Say, rather, that the as- 
sociations would overwhelm me. The sudden 
death of my husband, the tragic death of my 


82 THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 

child ! It would not be natural if I cared to stay 
here where calamity — ^and such calamity! — ^has 
overtaken me. Besides that, I was not born a 
Lestrange, and perhaps have none of the feeling 
for the place which you have and my dead hus- 
band had.” 

She might have been uttering the merest plati- 
tudes, so evenly the words came. And her eyes 
never left his face, or, if they did, but glanced 
away and came instantly back again. He was 
growing restless under their steady gaze. 

I came to offer you Lestrange and all that it 
contained for as long as you chose to keep it,” he 
said. 

thought worthy of my husband^s brother,” 
she answered; ‘^^but I must leave Lestrange.” 

“ Can I help you ? ” eagerly. Is there any- 
thing I can do ? ” 

No. 1 am not going far — only a little bit 
above here. I have had old Silas Wasdale’s hut 
torn down, and a house erected — a small house, 
but large enough for me. It will be completed 
shortly, and until it is finished I ask your hospi- 
tality.” 

His face was cold and hard as he rose to his 
feet. 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 


83 


For some reason of your own yon persist in 
treating me as if I had done you a grievous 
wrong/^ he said. ‘‘I am sorry that 3W do so; 
but I shall make no further efforts at concilia- 
tion. Do as you please : do as you think best. If 
ever your husband^s brother can benefit you, I 
beg of you not to hesitate to call upon him.” 

With those words he walked quickly to the door, 
opened and shut it as quickly, and went out. 
Claire Lestrange sank back in her chair. The in- 
terview, the sight of the man whose very presence 
so cruelly tried her, had almost exhausted her 
strength. So she sat with closed eyes and limply 
folded hands. 

Her brother-in-law left Lestrange that after- 
noon. He did not trouble her to say farewell — 
merely penciled a few words on one of his cards 
and sent it up to Claire with Joan. 

^^Mr. Frederic’s bride-to-be is evidently not 
a Catholic,” said Claire, listlessly; for the card, 
in addition to saying good-by, conveyed the infor- 
mation that the writer and Judith were to be 
married at Judith’s residence, the second day fol- 
lowing, by a Eeverend Mr. Adams. 

No one here knows aught about her,” said Joan 
Lester. '^Did you ever see her. Miss Claire?” 


84 THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 

Occasionally/’ was Claire’s reply. She did 
not strike me as being overfond of any religion; 
but in society there is no way of knowing much 
about that. She is an extremely beautiful young 
woman; in fact, if it is possible, too beautiful.” 

And Mr. Frederic is marrying out of his own 
faith ! ” said Joan, with great regret. I hoped, 
if he got one of his own kind, ’twould bring him 
back again. Mr. Frederic hasn’t been to his duty 
in years.” 

‘^Poor, faithful Joan,” said Claire, with an in- 
finitely pathetic smile ; and I suppose you worry 
over him as if you were his mother.” 

I do,” said Joan, frankly. Mr. Frederic 
may go wrong. Miss Claire, but honor’s in the 
Lestrange blood. He’ll have to come right in 
the end, no matter how wrong he goes.” 

She spoke so confidently, and with such faith, 
that Claire looked at her keenly. 

Are you positive he is a Lestrange ? ” she 
asked. It seems hardly possible he and my hus- 
band were at all related.” 

They were greatly alike,” said Joan — “ almost 
like twins. And I held him in my arms a moment 
after he was born.” 

You mean in looks,” said Claire, absently. ‘‘ I 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 85 

did not allude to his looks. There he is fearfully 
like Roderick. 

Joan knew and dreaded the blank far-away ex- 
pression that settled down on Claire's face now. 
It came very often, and she would sit for hours 
in silence, doing nothing, uttering no word. 
Nothing could rouse her — no speech of Joan's 
could bring her to herself, until the fit of abstrac- 
tion passed. Although Claire did not know it 
then, it was this passive state of mind which saved 
her reason. Her faculties were numbed, her 
bodily strength exhausted. So that now, when 
she seemingly slipped away from her surroundings, 
nature was, in reality, trying to repair the effects 
of the shock that she had suffered. 

The afternoon passed quietly as usual. Joan 
had wheeled her mistress' chair into the low bay 
window. Autumn was just departing, and the 
golden glow that it had left behind still lingered 
on wood and field. Unconsciously Claire loved 
the peaceful scene; unconsciously her mind 
received it and enjoyed it, and it calmed her. 

By-and-by, through this absence of feeling, the 
knowledge that she was not alone struck home to 
Claire. It came as an annoyance at first; then 
she looked down at a woman's figure sitting be- 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 


side her with a distinct sense of pleasure. The 
graceful form was strangely familiar. And the 
face — Claire looked at that face, studying it. A 
grave face, gentle, noble. The eyes a tender gray ; 
the lips red and softly curved; the skin a creamy 
white ; the brows and lashes a warm brown like the 
mass of hair piled above the temples. With her 
chin in her hand, Claire^s eyes came back from 
contemplation of the unknown, and dwelt almost 
with fondness on that splendid face — not splendid 
in its beauty, but splendid in its womanhood. 

No one save Helen Dacre would have known how 
to steal in softly on Claire’s strange moodiness, 
and bring her back to the present in such a loving 
way. She said no word; she did not need to 
speak, for she was versed in the art of consola- 
tion. Her presence was the harbinger of joy. 

So Claire, with interest dawning in her weary 
eyes, leaned down to the tender face below her, 
was clasped gently in softly closing arms, was 
kissed with those gentle lips, and then as softly 
released again — not a movement breaking the 
hush or peace of that holy moment when the heart 
of a loving friend sprang up to meet the need of 
love she saw in her friend’s eyes. 

Claire sat quietly, looking down at her. After 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE, 


87 


a while Helen Dacre took her hand and fondled 
it between her own strong palms. 

^^When did you come, Helen?” 

An hour ago, dearie.” 

She had a voice to match her face, musical, low, 
and yet with an undercurrent of strength. She 
would be able to sing tender songs — pathetic little 
love songs or gentle lullabies, one might imagine, 
listening to that low, sweet voice. 

I came along the Lestrange road,” she went 
on; ^^and at the end of it I saw the nicest little 
villa, or chateau, or chalet — it would be hard to 
give it a name, it is so quaint. I was thinking 
I would like to buy it when it was finished. But 
Joan told me, while I enjoyed a cup of tea with 
her, that it is yours.” 

Claire listened, soothed by the refined accents, 
and only gradually taking in the meaning of her 
words. 

Yes, it is mine,” she said, vaguely. 

^^Your architect is of a unique sort,” went on 
Helen Dacre. It is low, and it is high. The 
view from the little tower or turret will be beauti- 
ful. The rooms are so high, so delightfully high ! 
And so well laid out! Claire, I shall help you 
to furnish it.” 


88 THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 

Do it all for me/’ said Claire, indifferently. 

Oh no; that would be presuming on your good 
nature. I shall go out again to-morrow, and 
select my own room.” 

If you would but stay with me,” said Claire. 
Do not go away again, Helen ? ” 

^^No, dear — not unless you come with me.” 

How long is Wilfrid to stay in Italy ? ” 

She did not notice the quick change of expres- 
sion on that bright and charming face. 

do not know how long,” she said. Claire 
looked at her with a question dawning in her eyes. 

I thought you two loved each other too much 
to be separated.” 

We do,” said Helen Dacre ; but we have 
work that must be done, and we could not leave 
it together, dearie. So Wilfrid had to go alone.” 

Had to go ? ” Claire was rousing to curiosity, 
rousing to interest in life. 

^^Yes. If both went, the work we are doing 
would have suffered severely. So we made the 
sacrifice. I stayed to take care of it, and Wilfrid 
went on his pilgrimage. But I’ll tell you more 
of that later,” brightly. She gazed at her criti- 
cally. How fair and lovely you still are, Claire. 
Your skin, which used to be the envy of every 


THE COMIHQ OF HELEN DACRE. 


89 


girl who knew yon! And that pile of yellow 
hair ! ” She reached upward and touched it with 
her hand. You will never grow old, Claire.’^ 

^^No?” asked Claire. I do not worry. Age 
has little terror for me.^’ 

Helen Dacre still kept her eyes upon her. 

I think you mean it, Claire.” 

Yes,” said Claire, listlessly, I do. Old age, 
time, nothing has any terror for me now. I am 
bereft of all a woman can hold dear.” 

She spoke the last words scarcely above a 
whisper. The listless look gave way to one of in- 
tensest anguish. 

^^Yet God has given you a treasure to equal 
mine.” 

You mean ? ” 

Our children play together at the blessed 
Mary’s knee.” 

It was a daring speech, and on it Helen Dacre 
risked much that she had planned for Claire Le- 
strange’s good. The widowed mother stared down 
at her, and Helen, struggling up to her knees, 
clasped both her hands fervently. 

My Claire, we have work to do in ihis world, 
you and I. Only mothers: who yearn in vain for 
the clasp of loving little arms can do it. Only 


90 THE comma OF HELEN DACRE. 

mothers who seek in vain for the pressure of lov- 
ing little lips can do it. You and I, Claire.’’ 

Slowly the great tears gathered in Claire Le- 
strange’s eyes; slowly they began to course down 
her pale face. 

Wilfrid has gone to Rome on a pilgrimage, 
and thence he goes to Lourdes. He will die this 
year if God does not intervene to save him. Only 
a miracle can restore him to health. But the work 
we have been doing together called him, and he 
would not seek even the miracle of God’s gift of 
health if it meant the children’s loss. So I prom- 
ised faithfully to take up his duties, and to per- 
form them at whatever cost to myself.” 

What is this work ? ” asked Claire Lestrange, 
in a low tone. 

Not now,” said Helen Dacre. Wait.” 

The silence that fell then lasted until the shad- 
ows began to deepen in the room. Claire, in her 
habitual attitude, her chin resting on her slender 
hand, stared out at the trees and the blue sky 
that was their background. The other hand rested 
softly on Helen’s shoulder. After a while, as com- 
prehension of her friend’s words came to her, her 
hand stole softly upward until it rested on her 
head. 


THE COMING OF HELEN DACRE. 


91 


Poor Helen/^ she breathed then ; my poor, 
poor girl/^ 

Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth,” said 
Helen Dacre, softly. 

And in God^s good time, He will repay ! ’’ 

The words came with energy, with force. 
Eonsed to life, Claire Lestrange drew herself erect, 
her bosom heaving. 

Helen!” she said, passionately, do not 
desire revenge — I have no wish to wreak venge- 
ance. But I am willing to leave it to God. I 
know, as surely that there is a God, that, when the 
time is ripe. He will repay. That is no sin, surely, 
to be convinced of that. I wish no evil to a living 
soul, but to know that God has taken vengeance 
into His own hands.” 

My dear,” said Helen, soothingly, “ God al- 
ways does. And it is no sin to be convinced of 
it if we are sure that there is no wish for it on 
our part. Our suffering counts but little, Claire, 
dear. It is how we hear our suffering/' 

And with those great and wise words, again 
a silence fell. 


92 


JOUATHAI^ AND DAVID. 


CHAPTEE VI. 

JONATHAN AND DAVID. 

Wilfrid Dacre returned the following year 
from his pilgrimage — not entirely well, the doc- 
tors said, but with what they called a new lease 
of life. The progress of the disease had been ar- 
rested, and they, who had predicted death for him 
the preceding year, now said that he might live 
five or six, or even seven years. He visited at 
Claire Lestrange’s beautiful little home, and when 
he left it Claire accompanied him and Helen to 
the city. 

Claire^s life had always been practically a shel- 
tered one, so that now, in her twenty-seventh year, 
there was much in the world which she did not 
recognize even by name. Of pure and lofty tem- 
perament, inclined to estheticism, the sights she 
saw when Helen Dacre led her through the rooms 
of the residence she and her husband had bought 
in order to facilitate their work shocked her. 

For these two were quietly and earnestly striving 
to reach those souls which could not be gained save 
by personal and individual contact. They had 


J02JATHAlSf AND DAYID. 


93 


placed themselves under the direction of the priest 
in whose parish they resided. Yes, resided, for 
here, amid the want and misery of a great city, 
they lived in their own home, quietly and evenly 
pursuing their way. No one was too old or too 
case-hardened to be refused pity here. Wilfrid 
Dacre himself met old offenders as the prison gates 
clanged behind them and brought them to a haven. 
He met young girls, children in years, whom vice 
had taken so early in ravenous clutches, and 
brought them home to Helen and to Claire — and 
to a priest who could search the heart of man or 
woman and read its secret thoughts. They took 
little children from their mothers^ arms or from 
the streets, and fed and clothed them — and some- 
times housed them for days together. 

This was the work that Helen and Wilfrid 
Dacre were doing, and had been doing for five 
years. They had taken it up at the death of their 
only child, and the need of them seemed appalling. 
It was to work like this that they brought the 
widow of the dead Eoderic — the mother of the 
dead Eoderic. 

And Claire? Of course she shrank from it. 
The coarseness and the sin fairly nauseated her 
at times, but this soon passed away. After a 


94 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


little she grew absorbed in it, gave it all her ener- 
gies. The years flew by. Wilfrid Dacre grew 
paler and more emaciated, but he still lived past 
the allotted seven years to carry out his daily 
routine, to do good, and to do it well. 

So strange, indeed, are the ways in which men 
become acquainted, that the meeting of Dr. Ed- 
ward Nugent and Wilfrid Dacre is hardly worthy 
of being called strange. It was Monday morning, 
and, as usual, Wilfrid Dacre stood waiting for 
those he had promised to meet upon their dis- 
charge from the city prison. As he leaned against 
the wall of the waiting-room, his eyes fastened 
upon the Island boat, which had just left the other 
side of the river, he noticed a tall, gray-haired 
man quite close to him. Dacre had seen this man 
twice before, so that now the kind old face seemed 
familiar. 

It was indeed a kind face, a good face. The 
generosity of Edward Nugent’s heart had kept 
that look of youth in his countenance, and, only 
for the sadness of his features, his age would not 
have seemed to warrant his gray hairs. Dacre 
wondered if he were waiting for any one from the 
Island — an erring relative, perhaps, who might 
be serving a sentence for some petty crime. He 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


95 


kept watching him for some time before the im- 
pulse came to speak. 

Have you ever been across the river ? he said, 
suddenly — ^‘through the penitentiary, I mean?” 

He spoke abruptly, and Dr. Nugent, finding 
himself addressed, turned around. His glance 
sought his interrogator’s face, and what he saw 
there made his own face quite gentle and sympa- 
thetic. 

No,” he said. I am a comparative stranger 
to the city. We moved up from a country town 
to be near my son. He thought I was old enough 
to stop practising. I think so, too. I don’t care 
much for the active life any more.” 

^^How did you find out this portion of the 
city?” asked Dacre, involuntarily. 

don’t know. I was drawn to it uncon- 
sciously, I think. It has a fascination for me.” 

Strange ! ” said Wilfrid Dacre. Your son 
knows you come here ? ” 

^^Yes,” said the old gentleman; ‘^he will be 
along in a little while. What a melancholy pro- 
cession that of Monday morning is ! The poor 
flotsam and jetsam of humanity. Would to God 
we could restore them to faith and innocence ! To 
give them a chance to redeem themselves! Not 


JONATHAN AND DAYID. 


one, I wager, out of all who come here, fails to 
go back again.” 

Oh, yes,” said Wilfrid Dacre, there are 
many. Many to help them too. I wish you could 
call on us some time, and see what we are doing.” 
He drew his card from his pocket and gave it 
to him. 

Dacre! Dacre!” said Dr. Nugent, thought- 
fully. ^‘1 have heard that name. Tell me, do 
you know a priest named Father James Key- 
nolds ? ” 

^^He is the brother of our own Father John 
Eeynolds, who takes charge of the spiritual end 
of our work,” said Dacre. 

Dr. Nugent held out his hand. 

'^Mr. Dacre, will you honor me by shaking 
hands with me ? ” he said, in a voice full of feel- 
ing. I have heard all about you. Many a night 
I lay awake picturing what you might be like, 
and wondering if — ” He broke off. I knew 
Father James well — I met him fresh from a 
visit to his brother, and to your home. Your 
wife and another lady are connected with you in 
this work?” 

^^Yes; come down and‘ look the place over,” 
urged Wilfrid, eagerly. He had taken a sudden 


JONATHAN AND DAY ID. 


97 


and violent liking to this big man — and Wilfrid 
Dacre was not given to sudden or violent likings. 

will, I thank you.” Then he glanced up 
quickly. " Here is my son.” 

A young man was coming with swift steps 
down the long flight of stairs that led from the 
street to the landing. Wilfrid Dacre watched 
him, strangely curious, for he was much attracted 
by the elder man, and wondered what sort his 
son would be. He saw a handsome face, the chief 
expression one of great strength and will power. 
It was softened somewhat now as he glanced at his 
father. 

Eeady to come on, dad ? ” he asked, cheerily. 

^^Yes, immediately. Edward, this gentleman 
is Wilfrid Dacre.” 

Wilfrid Dacre ! ” The young man extended 
his hand impulsively, and the smile that lighted 
up his face transformed it from grave manhood 
to boyishness. Your name is a household word. 
It is such an odd name — one can not forget it 
easily — and since Father Eeynolds spoke of 
you — ” 

Father Eeynolds may have been carried away 
by his enthusiasm,” said Dacre, with a smile. A 
sudden warm glo^ sponta- 


98 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


neous good feeling in the clasp of those strong 
fingers and the light in that handsome face. 

And again, yon, being an only child, may share 
some of your father’s — ” 

An only child ! ” laughed the young man. 
^^Not I. There are five brothers and sisters of 
us. However, I am the only one to follow my 
father’s profession.” 

A good profession,” said Dacre, warmly. 

But I see the boat near shore, and I have my 
work to do. Will you favor me with a visit some 
time? My eagerness is not entirely unselfish. 
There is much need of a physician.” 

‘^You will help, Edward — my son is a special- 
ist in his line,” said Dr. hTugent. Ho, now — 
not much of your time — an afternoon a week.” 

We’ll see,” said the younger man, more cauti- 
ously. ‘‘At any rate, we’ll call on you.” 

The rest of the morning was a busy one for 
Wilfrid Dacre, but in spite of the nearness of 
the approaching boat he turned to look again at 
the young man’s aristocratic figure as he walked 
away beside his father, noting his air of distinc- 
tion, and the pride of his bearing, from the tip 
of his dark-brown head to the toe of his well- 
shod foot, 


JO^JATHA't^ AND DAVID. 


Great Scott, he looks more like a prince than 
a physician,^’ said Dacre to himself. ‘^But they 
are certainly fine people — I never felt so drawn 
to a living soul as I do to them.’’ 

He was telling his wife and Claire about them 
later in the day, and Claire looked up with inter- 
est. 

If it’s that young Dr. Nugent of whom the 
papers are talking — Dr. Edward Nugent, Jr. — 
why, Wilfrid, you never asked him to give his 
time to us ! He’s invented some kind of a tube — 
I must look it up — and has saved I don’t know 
how many lives in the Children’s Hospital.” 

That’s the very fellow, then, Claire,” said 
Wilfrid. ‘^Talk about providence!” 

Talk about audacity ! ” said Helen, with a 
smile. 

My girl, could I be audacious in a better 
cause ? ” 

It may seem odd to meet, a score of years older, 
those two friends who were young in the preced- 
ing chapter. But you would know both of them: 
Claire Lestrange at forty-six is rarely lovely still, 
not a thread of white in her yellow hair. Time 
had penciled lines under her sad blue eyes and 
^bout the lovely lips, which have lost their fill- 


Lore. 


100 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


ness as the years sped by. The contour of the 
face is thinner, too, and the white hands, never 
very fleshy, show the bones quite plainly. Beyond 
that she is the Claire Lestrange we knew, but 
infinitely happier. Helen, perhaps because of 
the whiteness of her locks, looks older than her 
friend. But the good they had done and were 
doing spoke in the souls that shone out in the 
peacefulness of their faces. They won all hearts 
unconsciously. The years had slipped b}^ un- 
noticed and unfelt, and Claire Lestrange could 
scarcely realize that Time was flying so swiftly. 

They are Catholics,” said Wilfrid Dacre 
now, after a short pause. 

That is good — I am glad to hear that,” said 
Helen Dacre. I don’t like to ask favors from 
others if our own can bestow them. What does 
he look like — the young Dr. Nugent, I mean, of 
course ? ” 

“ A woman’s question — I knew it was coming,” 
laughed Dacre. ^^I’m afraid I can’t describe 
him. He’s old until he laughs, and then he’s 
young — a boy. He’s handsome: a sort of refined 
handsomeness until he sets his jaw; and then he’s 
like — well, then, he’s all man.” 

Is he dark ? ” asked Helen, 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


101 


donH know,” confessed Dacre. ‘^His hair 
is dark, I think. But I can’t remember.” 

The subject had been dismissed from their 
minds almost a week, and Claire Lestrange had 
forgotten it, when, one Thursday evening — the 
only evening in the week that the three took ex- 
clusively for their own — they were seated in the 
room which they called library or den or parlor 
as the fancy pleased them. In fact, it was 
Helen’s library, Wilfrid’s den, and Claire’s parlor, 
and many a laugh they had at the names they 
gave it. They were prepared for an evening of 
calm enjoyment. Beyond a rare visit from Joan 
Lester — the faithful Joan, who was growing very 
old now — and, once a year, a call from Father 
Duncan, Claire Lestrange had no visitors. Her 
husband’s brother never came to see her. That 
he was living at Lestrange with his wife and 
children she knew, but that was all; for Joan 
was reticent, and would say nothing rather than 
hurt Claire by unadvised words. Helen and Wil- 
frid had many relatives and friends; but when 
one visits not at all, it is a relationship and 
friendship based on pure esteem that perseveres. 

One of Claire’s gifts — a gift that had proved 
very valuable to her in her work with the Dacres 


102 


JONATHAN A2^D DAVID. 


— was music. She had several new things to try 
now — this time in the music-room.” At a table 
near-by sat Wilfrid Dacre in his den,” busily 
pasting pictures in a large book — a work, by the 
way, in which he took much delight, and which 
was to him a diversion. Helen, with a book in 
her hand, was not prepared to do much reading, 
rather to laugh at her husband and listen to her 
friend. 

It was, therefore, with unmixed pleasure that 
they read the names of Dr. Nugent, Sr., and Dr. 
Nugent, Jr., on the cards brought to them by the 
maid, and when, an instant later, the two men 
entered, both Claire and Helen felt that they 
would not be disappointed in them. The elder 
man, tall and noble-looking, with the rugged 
features and slight air of melancholy. The 
younger, more like a prince than ever,” thought 
Wilfrid Dacre, seemed different in his attitude, 
now that women were present. His air of hom- 
age, his attention, were pleasant to observe. 
Claire Lestrange could not take her eyes from 
him, puzzled to account for his attraction for 
her. More than once their eyes met. Each was 
observing the other, openly at times, and covertly 
when he or she thought the other’s attention 


J0NATHA2J AND DAVID. 


103 


occupied by something or some one else. Old Dr. 
Nugent succumbed immediately on entering. He 
would give Wilfrid Dacre three of his afternoons 
a week, on condition that he was placed in a 
position where he might visit jails and prisons 
easily. And here his son broke in with a low 
laugh : 

Can’t you suggest some manner in which my 
father can take up his permanent residence in 
some penitentiary? I’ve suggested several ways 
of breaking the law, but he only shakes his head 
at me. See that air of reproach, now — you’d 
think I was a little shaver yet.” 

That’s all you’ll ever be to me, my son,” said 
Dr. Nugent. 

don’t object, dad; but mother won’t like 
any such additions to her family. She relates 
many incidents of father’s generosity while we 
lived in Abneyville — he couldn’t see a stray dog 
or cat or youngster that he didn’t bring home. 
But something always happened to them.” He 
looked at his father with a twinkle in his eye. 

‘"Yes; I’ll relate some of my experiences to 
you later on, Mr. Dacre,” said Dr. Nugent, smil- 
ing a little, “especially my last and worst ven- 
ture — the adoption of one Anthony — 


104 


JONATHAN AND DAVID. 


His statement was interrupted by the entrance 
of the maid. 

Two gentlemen to see Mrs. Lestrange/^ she 
said. 

Claire took the pasteboards, and read the 
names. 

Send them here,’’ she said to the maid. Then 
she turned to Helen Dacre. I had rather not 
see them alone,” she began, in a voice from which 
all light and joyousness had fled — a voice that 
made young Dr. Nugent glance at her sharply. 

They are Frederic Lestrange — and his son — 
his son — Eoderic.” 

Her tones faltered over the last word. Helen 
came to her side, an expression of sympathy on 
her face. Dr. Nugent, seeing that for some 
reason both women were agitated, became en- 
tirely engrossed in Wilfrid Dacre’s conversation, 
and the younger man bent his eyes to the book 
of views lying on the table. But he was keenly 
alive to Claire’s emotion — he seemed to feel an 
answering response to it stirring in his own 
bosom. 

Eoderic! He called his son Eoderic! I did 
not know that, Claire.” 

^^Nor I. Joan would not tell me, I suppose. 


JOHNATHAN AND DAVID. 


105 


fearing that she might hurt me. Here they are 
now.^^ 

Just as of old she stood, calm and proud, her 
fair face lifted, the light shining on her hair. 
Frederic Lestrange hesitated as he entered the 
room, and saw her, in appearance scarcely a day 
older, her eyes meeting his as inscrutably as they 
had twenty-one years before. 

Pardon this intrusion,” he said, in the courte- 
ous accents she remembered well, as clear and 
musical as ever ; “ but my son has heard so much 
of his busy Aunt Claire that he at last prevailed 
upon me to bring him here. Claire, my boy 
Eoderic.” 

Involuntarily, Claire took a step forward. In 
spite of herself her form trembled, her hand went 
to her heart, and a mist swam before her eyes. 
For it seemed to her that she was looking at her 
own dead boy, living and in the flesh, with twenty 
years of manhood added to his childish frame 
and bearing. 

Frederic Lestrange watched her with a peculiar 
light in his eyes. 

^^You are welcome — Eoderic,” she said, and 
her voice was quivering — welcome a hundred 
times.” She held out both her hands, and the 


106 


JOl^ATHAIJ AND DAVID. 


young man clasped them heartily in his own, 
looking at her almost affectionately. 

“ My Aunt Claire ! he said, how often J oan 
has told me of you ! Poor old J oan ! She will 
not last much longer, she says, but bids me give 
you her love and duty. You will always be ^ Miss 
Claire,^ the lady of Lestrange, to her.’^ 

He smiled boyishly, and she, feeling the warmth 
of those young hands, could not take her eyes 
from his face, so fair it was ! The close waves 
of yellow hair clustering to the well-shaped head; 
the eyes blue, smiling, unshadowed — the eyes of 
a guileless soul; the face splendidly handsome. 

How like ! she said to Frederic Lestrange, 
with the first impulse of kindness she had ever 
experienced toward him. Don’t you see how 
like he is to my Eoderic ? ” 

/^Joan swears that he is Eoderic in the flesh,” 
laughed Frederic Lestrange. 

And then, remembering herself, Claire intro- 
duced father and son to the Nugents — and to the 
Dacres, who were merely acquainted with Fred- 
erick, and had never seen his son. A curious 
oppression had weighed upon young Dr. Nugent 
as he watched the meeting between Claire Le- 
strange and her nephew, and when it came his 


J0NATHA2^ AND DAVID. 


107 


turn to be introduced to Roderic he raised his 
eyes with a distinct sense of antagonism — a feel- 
ing utterly foreign to his nature. But their eyes 
met. 

Some souls there are honest and true enough 
to recognize the honesty and truth of others. 
Some natures there are that feel the call of a 
kindred spirit and are frank enough to respond 
thereto. The eyes of Edward Nugent and Rod- 
eric Lestrange met squarely. They held each 
other’s glance, and they held each other’s hands. 
Neither was conscious then that they had formed 
a bond of friendship which was never to be 
broken this side of the grave. That as the soul 
of Jonathan was knit unto that of David, so 
were their souls bound, never to escape. Neither 
knew this then — but afterward, when they re- 
alized the greatness of their affection, they knew 
it began at that portentous moment. 


108 ''HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY! 


CHAPTER VII. 

"he had a grandson, ANTHONY 

Like one in a dream, Claire went through her 
duty as hostess that evening. It seemed to her 
that some event of great importance to herself 
was about to happen. She had good control, for- 
tunately, of her impulses — the years had taught 
her that; but she was still a woman who had 
known love and sorrow, and the presence of those 
so closely connected with both had power to move 
her. She listened intently to every word uttered 
by young Edward Nugent and Roderic Le- 
strange. She knew they were even then on terms 
that were almost intimate — and she could not ac- 
count for the strangeness of feeling which urged 
her to try to separate them. She looked at the 
young doctor, as she had been looking at him 
since his arrival — he was, as Wilfrid Dacre had 
described him, truly princely-looking. She won- 
dered if he had inherited that splendid bearing 
from his mother. The elder man, while plainly 
a gentleman, was rugged of feature and careless 


HE HAD A GRAHDBOH, ANTHONY!'’ 109 


of demeanor — the ruggedness and carelessness that 
women love; but his son was so different, thought 
Claire Lestrange. 

And Roderic! 

She could scarcely bear to look at him, nor 
could she bear to keep her eyes away. Again and 
again she glanced in his direction — why, it 
seemed cruel that another should be so like her 
son. This resemblance was not confined to her 
own thoughts alone. Wilfrid Dacre remarked it 
to Rodericks father. 

never saw two people more like each other 
than your son and Claire,” he said, smiling. 

It is peculiar, isn’t it ? ” answered Frederic 
Lestrange. ^^His mother is a pronounced bru- 
nette.” . 

“ Is that so ? He is your only child ? ” 

My only son. There are two others — much 
younger. They take after their mother — fortu- 
nately.” 

Fortunately ? ” asked Wilfrid Dacre. I 
would scarcely say that, if I were you. He is 
a very handsome boy.” 

Handsome — doubtless. I could add, as good 
as he looks, only it might sound odd from a 
father’s Ups.” 


no HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!** 

one could doubt that, lookin^c at him,’’ 
said Wilfrid Dacre, heartily. 

Dr. iSTugent joined in then. 

Our lads seem to be striking up an acquaint- 
anceship.” 

So I see. I have read of Dr. Nugent’s late 
achievement. The papers have been giving him 
great praise.” 

Yes,” said the father ; I am much gratified, 
of course — but more gratified to see that he bears 
his honors so lightly. I think success is apt to 
turn a young fellow’s head. You’d scarcely be- 
lieve it, but he is only twenty-five.” 

“ He looks much older,” said Frederic Le- 
strange. 

Until he smiles — then he is all boy,” put in 
Wilfrid Dacre. 

There is something about him that reminds 
me of Claire when he smiles,” said Frederic Le- 
strange, suddenly. There, just then — a re- 
semblance.” 

Merely a passing one,” said Dr. Nugent, care- 
lessly. And then he looked at his watch. I 
must be off, or my good wife will talk to me for 
keeping her son out so late ! ” He laughed huge- 
ly at the joke. Come, your mother’s waiting.” 


HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!** Ill 

said Edward Nugent. He turned to 
say a few parting words to his new-found friend. 
Dr. Nugent held Claire Lestrange’s hand very 
gently. He had been much impressed by the 
beauty and goodness of her face. 

I should like Felicia — my wife — to meet you, 
Mrs. Lestrange. My little daughter, Jessie, is 
coming home from her studies in France next 
month — we sent her to finish her music there. 
Will you permit me to bring her and her mother 
to call on you ? ” 

^^With the greatest pleasure — I should be de- 
lighted,^^ said Claire, with the smile that was so 
like his boy’s lighting up her face. Any Thurs- 
day. But we shall see you before she — ^your 
daughter — comes home.” 

Oh, yes ; indeed you will.” 

Claire, when are you coming out to occupy 
Silas Wasdale’s hut, as Joan calls it?” said Fred- 
eric Lestrange, with a genial smile. 

Poor Joan ! She never called my pretty villa 
anything else ! ” Claire hesitated. I am glad 
to have the opportunity of thanking you per- 
sonally for the kindness you showed to the chil- 
dren we sent there last summer,” she said in 
reply. 


112 “ HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY! ” 

Nonsense, Claire. It was Eoderic’s doings. 
He’s a born philanthropist, and when it was his 
Aunt Claire’s work — well, you see, Joan has his 
head packed full of nonsense about you.” 

Silas Wasdale’s hut came in just then to help 
me get rid of superfluous time and money,” said 
young Koderic, his blue eyes alight with en- 
thusiasm. I’m interested in anything like that, 
Aunt Claire. Let me help you, won’t you?” 

^^Ask Mr. Dacre for work — I am only serving 
under him.” 

Young Roderic’s pitying eyes traveled to Wil- 
frid Dacre’s pale face, and there was much mean- 
ing in that ingenuous glance — meaning that Wil- 
frid Dacre understood. 

My dear boy,” he said, frankly, if you were to 
ask either of these two gentlemen of medicine how 
long I had to livcj he would tell you a month or 
two, or even three. If he examined me, he might 
give me a year, with care. But I left the States, 
when this work of mine had been under way five 
years, to ask a miracle — that God would spare 
my life until some one came to take my place. 
I’ve lived twenty-one years since then.” 

‘^And you’ll live a hundred,” said Helen, im- 
pulsively, ‘^before any one can ^ke your place.” 


HE HAD A GRAEDBOE, ANTHOEY!'' 113 


Nonsense, mj dear. Perhaps another Le- 
strange will come.” He smiled at Eoderic — a 
smile that could mean much or little. 

No, no,” said Frederic Lestrange, roughly; 
my son has other work to do in this world than 
running after unfortunates. The work is all 
right; but for him it would be all wrong.” 

Nothing is all wrong if one has a taste for it.” 

Neither of the Nugents had said a word. But 
at the beginning of the conversation they had ex- 
changed quick glances. Now, with a curious ex- 
pression on his face, the elder man spoke. 

Don’t let me lead the conversation away from 
its present channel,” he said; ‘‘but didn’t you 
mention a rather peculiar name a few moments 
since? Silas something?” 

“Oh, Silas Wasdale! Yes,” said Claire; “that 
was the name of an old man who owned a ram- 
shackle little place on the edge of the Lestrange 
woods. He left there one day, and I had the 
hut torn down and a villa erected. We send some 
poor children out there every year. Joan, the old 
housekeeper of Lestrange, never called my villa 
anything but Silas Wasdale’s hut.” 

“Silas Wasdale! That’s the name. He had 
a grandson, Anthony?” 


114 ‘^HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!'^ 

^^Yes; a little boy — a smart little chap. Did 
you know him?” 

About a score of years ago. He came to Ab- 
neyville while I was there. I was merely ac- 
quainted with him.” 

And the grandchild ? ” 

Oh, the grandchild — the grandchild is still on 
terra firma. But I must not detain you. Good- 
night, everybody, and come on, Edward.” 

He included all in his pleasant bow and de- 
parted, followed by his son. Claire thought that 
Frederic Lestrange looked annoyed when he left 
them, but his parting grasp was hearty. She 
went to her own room that night in a confusion of 
mind that had not assailed her for a long, long 
time. 

* * * ♦ ♦ 

Frederic Lestrange was indeed annoyed. Yo 
one knew better than he the quixotic turn of 
mind of his son Eoderic. He called the young 
man^s ideas quixotic, and absurd, and untenable, 
and from the first both father and mother had 
done all they could to discourage him. But it 
seemed as if this attitude was inborn, and, in 
spite of his father’s ridicule and his mother’s 
sarcasm, he persisted in his assertion that he 


HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY r* 115 


owed a duty to those in the world less fortunate 
than himself. He was deeply interested in his 
aunt’s lifework, and always spoke of it with long- 
ing. Although they came to the city every winter 
from Lestrange, Frederic staved off this visit to 
Claire as long as he possibly could, and then in- 
sisted on accompanying his son, much as he dis- 
liked meeting his brother’s widow after such a 
lapse of years. He counted on his presence to 
offset any direct influence she might have upon 
the boy. 

He was prepared for the young fellow’s en- 
thusiastic encomiums of his aunt when they left 
the house, and there was a singular smile upon 
his face. Roderic, ingenuous, frank, simple as 
a child, did not inherit the tendencies of his 
father nor the nature of his mother. His was 
a character foreign to either of them. He might, 
indeed, have been Claire Lestrange’s son. 

And here Frederic Lestrange paused and 
frowned, and his jaw set savagely; for his boy 
had asked him a question: 

Father, do you believe what Mr. Dacre said 
about being left alive until some one comes to 
take his place?” 

'^Do you feel a consuming anxiety to sign his 


116 HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY 

death warrant ? ” asked Frederic Lestrange, with 
bitter sarcasm. 

^^Don^t, father/’ said the young man, much 
hurt; ^^you know I did not mean that. But he 
said that perhaps another Lestrange might take 
up the work.” 

I shall not/’ said Frederic Lestrange, coldly ; 
and you shall not — at least during my lifetime. 
You can please yourself when I am dead.” 

Young Eoderic was silent. He thought of the 
perfect good feeling existing between the two 
Nugents, their unity of interests, their sympathy 
in each other’s pursuits, and he sighed. He re- 
solved not to annoy his father any longer with 
either comments or questioning. So no further 
word was exchanged between them. As they 
reached their own house, the butler stopped Fred- 
eric Lestrange. 

“ There is some one to see you, sir. He has 
been here all evening. Says he is an old friend 
of yours, or I should not have permitted him 
to wait.” 

Where is he ? ” asked Frederic Lestrange. 
He was in a bad humor — not inclined to welcome 
either old friends or new. 


‘‘In the smoking-room, sir.” 


♦ “HJ5J HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!^* 117 

Why the deuce did you put him there ? 
growled the elder man, 

I could watch him easiest there, sir,” was the 
rebuking answer. It seemed to reprimand Fred- 
eric Lestrange for his choice of old friends. 

Good-night, father ; 1^11 go right to my room. 
I’ll be up if you want to have a chat. ” 

Good-night, boy,” he replied, surlily, saying 
the word over his shoulder as he walked along the 
hall. When he entered the smoking-room, he did 
not see the man who had been waiting for him 
so long, so thick was the apartment with the 
smoke of his best Havanas. Justly indignant, 
Frederic Lestrange moved across the floor quickly, 
looking down then at the occupant of his own 
easy-chair, who just turned his head to glance 
up at him, lazily. 

How do you do ? ” he asked. Glad to see 
you.” 

Who— what— Good God ! ” 

Frederic Lestrange staggered back, his face 
paling. 

You ! ” he muttered. You ! ” 

He felt for a chair, dragged it toward him, and 
sank into it then, resting his head on his hands. 
The visitor did not speak, but continued to puff 


118 HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!’* 

at his cigar, gazing at the tip of it between the 
puffs in a reflective manner. 

Buck up ! he said, then. Don’t let the 
unexpected pleasure of my company make you 
feel so bad.” 

Frederic Lestrange did not answer him. He 
raised his head slowly, looked about him as if 
in a daze, then, rising to his feet, went to the 
buffet at the side of the room. He picked up 
the decanter. It was empty — and the glass on 
the table told who had consumed its contents. 
An exclamation broke from Frederic Lestrange. 

Did you drink all that stuff ? ” he asked. 

Every bit of it — and ready for more,” was 
the cool reply. mere drop, my boy.” 

I’m afraid you’ve had all you’ll get here,” 
was Lestrange’s answer. He rang the bell sharp- 
ly, and, when the butler entered, pointed to the 
empty decanter without a word. The man took 
it away, refilled it, and brought it back. And 
during that time Frederic Lestrange did not 
speak to his visitor, nor his visitor to him. He 
stood waiting — and held his glass that William 
might fill it. William glanced expectantly at 
the stranger, but Frederic Lestrange shook his 
head. The man withdrew much mystified. 


HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!^* 119 


As unsociable as ever,” said the visitor. 

You have the nerve to drink alone ? ” 

I drink only with my equals.” 

Your superiors are saved much embarrass- 
ment.” 

Frederic Lestrange came toward him then, 
and sat in the chair opposite. 

I thought you had gone to Australia — didn’t 
you want that $30,000 to buy a sheep farm ? ” 

Yes. It bought me lots of things — ^but no 
sheep farm. I had a fine time — ^it put me on 
my feet a year or two,” airily; ^^but now it’s 
gone. I’m down.” 

That means you want another few dollars ? ” 
A mind reader ! ” retorted he, with admira- 
tion. 

Frederic Lestrange smiled in a sour fashion. 

^^You think so? Then you can read that I 
do not intend to give it to you.” 

^^No; I can’t see it that way. You’ll give it 
to me.” 

There was much confidence in his tone. Fred- 
eric Lestrange had been preparing for this event 
a good many years — had grown old expecting it. 
Now that it came, it found him least ready. He 
had no command of himself this evening, but no 


120 HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY'^* 

one would imagine that from his manner, which 
was calm and easy and inscrutable. 

^^What will compel me to give it to you?’^ he 
asked now, looking the man steadily in the eye. 

‘‘You have a wife, a son, daughters — you are 
a Lestrange.^^ 

“ I know all that. I am a Lestrange — and who 
are you?” 

“A poor devil of a fellow, who has been your 
instrument on a good many occasions, but is 
now your master.” 

“You amuse me!” Frederick Lestrange 
snapped his fingers. “That is how much I care 
for you — and I fear you not at all.” 

“Mrs. Claire Lestrange is somewhere in the 
city. Would she like to see the man who passed 
as the lover she rejected for money's sake, w^hen 
you wished to turn her husband's mind against 
her? She might be happy to make my acquaint- 
ance?” 

“She might, at that. She is an honest sort of 
a woman. She'd ask you how much you made 
by the transaction.” 

There was a steely glitter in the handsome blue 
eyes. 

“I would tell her it only netted me a few 


“HJ5J HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!^* 121 

thousands — not enough, by any means, for so deli- 
cate an undertaking. But I could relate how 
Frederick Lestrange and I stole her son from 
his bed one night, dug up the body of another 
child, and, putting on it Roderick’s clothing, 
placed it in a lake in the Lestrange grounds.” 

In spite of himself Frederick Lestrange turned 
pale. But he stretched his limbs with an as- 
sumption of unconcern. 

“Tell her that, too. Wasdale, I will not give 
you another penny. If I thought it would do any 
good, I might. But to give you money now 
would simply mean that you’d fasten on me like 
a leech and that you’d hang on until I was 
drained dry, or defied you. I won’t do it, Was- 
dale. You’re an escaped convict — there’s a sen- 
tence of ten years hanging over your head even 
now. If you tell this tale. I’ll give you the lie 
and prosecute you for blackmail. YoU daren’t 
tell the real fate of Roderick Lestrange.” 

There was defiance in his voice, and in spite 
of apparent braggadocio the other knew that he 
meant every word he said. Frederick Lestrange 
had the upper hand of the situation. He had 
paid him for his dirty work, and his power over 
him was nothing. So he gazed at the floor re- 


122 HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY/’’ 

flectively. Lestrange was bluffing it, and so was 
he. But Lestrange meant his bluff: it was, 
rather, no bluff at all, but the real thing, and 
he knew what chance he would stand in a court of 
law against this cool and polished gentleman, of ir- 
reproachable morals — he, an escaped convict, with 
a sentence still to serve. If the police had the 
slightest hint of his presence in the city, he 
would have no chance to tell his story — rather, 
he would be railroaded to Sing Sing prison at 
once. 

“Look here,'’ he began, frankly. “I'll ac- 
knowledge that you could get the best of me at 
that. But what do you know about the boy? 
Nothing?" 

“I know that you slipped him quietly out of 
the window as you crossed the Hudson River," 
was the cold-blooded reply. 

“That's what I told you. But I didn't do it." 

“No?" Frederick Lestrange felt the hair 
rising on his head with fear. “He is — alive?" 

“Give me what ready money you have, and 
I'll tell you the whole story." 

Frederick Lestrange rose and left the room, 
returning in about three minutes with a roll of 
bills. He threw it on the table. 


HAD A GRAND80N, ANTHONY!^’ 123 

“You’ll find over nine hundred dollars there,” 
he said. “It’s for information you’re about to 
give me. After that, I never want to see your 
face again.” 

The man picked up the bills and put them into 
his pocket. 

“Old Silas Wasdale lived at Lestrange, taking 
care of my son, Anthony — whose father, myself, 
he reported had been lost at sea. Instead of that 
I was in prison, as you know. When my term 
was up, I was supposed to return to my father, 
give out that I had miraculously escaped drown- 
ing, and try to live a respectable life. I brought 
young Roderick to him, and sent him as far away 
from the place as he could get, taking my own 
child here to the city and putting him in an 
institution. Silas Wasdale reached Abneyville, 
where Roderick Lestrange, known as my son, An- 
thony Wasdale, took sick of the fever, and died. 
So, you see, I did not kill him — at least I am 
innocent of that.” 

His companion’s head had sunk forward on his 
chest. Wasdale could not see his face. He 
waited for an answer, but none came. Nemesis 
was upon Frederick Lestrange, and in what shape 
only he knew. 


124 HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY!'* 

I’m going now/’ said the other. “ You’ve 
no objection to my taking a drink?” 

No answer. 

Well, I’ll have one, anyhow.” He picked up 
the bottle and put it to his head, and the fiery 
liquor coursed down his throat. Beyond this all- 
consuming thirst for liquor, there was little of 
the law-breaker about the man. Save for a some- 
what shifty look around the eyes, he was to all 
appearances a respectable, middle-aged fellow, 
with some traces of refinement about him still. 
His speech especially was quite good. He placed 
the bottle back upon the buffet, and stood looking 
at Frederic Lestrange’s downcast face, not un- 
derstanding his sudden quietness. 

Well, I’m going,” he said. " It’s about the 
last you’ll ever see of me. Will you shake hands 
good-by ? ” 

Mechanically Lestrange extended his hand. 
Much surprised, the other grasped and shook it 
heartily. Then he left the room, and the watch- 
ful William saw him safely to the street. He 
had barely reached the corner when he heard 
his name called violently. He looked back. 
Frederic Lestrange stood on the steps, waving 
his hand at him, and, again struck with aston- 


HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY! ” 126 


ishment, Wasdale retraced his steps. Frederic 
Lestrange was breathless, as if he had been run- 
ning. 

Come back — to-morrow — night. I may want 
you. Idl have more — 

He said nothing else, but went inside and 
closed the door behind him, leaving the thor- 
oughly mystified Wasdale to walk slowly along 
the street, pondering on this sudden change in 
the attitude of the man he had come to bully, and 
who had routed him so completely. Lestrange 
went back to the smoking-room, and sat down in 
the self-same chair; for, as Wasdale had spoken, 
he had heard, ringing in his ears, the conversation 
between Claire and Dr. Hugent that evening: 

Silas Wasdale! He had a grandson, An- 
thony?" 

^ Yes ; a little boy — a smart little chap. Did 
you know him ? " 

^ About a score of years ago. He came to 
Abneyville while I was there. I was merelv ac- 
quainted with him." 

^ And the grandchild ? " 

^ Oh, the grandchild — the grandchild is still 
on terra firma." "" 

Those were the words — the words that rang 


126 HAD A GRANDSOH, ANTHOHY!^' 

like clarion notes through his brain, supplemented 
by that phrase of his visitor’s: 

Silas Wasdale reached Abneyville, where 
Eoderic Lestrange took sick of the fever, and 
died.” 

Frederic Lestrange felt, with all the fear of a 
guilty conscience, that Dr. FTugent’s words were 
true, and that his nephew, whom he had thought 
so securely out of the way, was actually alive. In 
that moment of realization his courage failed him ; 
he felt that he could not plan further action alone, 
and he could not bear to lose sight of his partner 
in previous crime. Why he wanted him to return 
he scarcely knew — ^he could easily say that he 
wished to give him more money. In reality he 
felt that he must have some possible source of 
help in the danger that threatened. 

Many years had passed over Frederic Le- 
strange’s head since the day he had pitted his 
conscience against his ambition. Ambition won 
— won with the aid of a beautiful face, won with 
the aid of his love for a woman. The woman 
was his — had been his a score of years, was his 
to-day. He looked back. The unrest of youth 
had fled with its strength. He was calmer now, 
and the prize he had secured still dear to him. 


HE HAD A GRANDSON, ANTHONY! ” 127 


still beautiful in his eyes, but not worth the 
cost. Honor was in the blood,” said faithful 
Joan of the Lestranges, and the honor in this 
Lestrange’s blood was a source of galling dis- 
content. But he had taken the first step. All he 
asked from life, life had given him: Wealth, 
honor, love, children both clever and handsome. 
These were his. And for these he would carry 
out his evil projects to the end. When God’s 
good time comes,” he had said, '^let it find us 
together.” 

Was this God’s good time? 

Hot these were the words that tormented him 
that night. He had little thought of God. He 
slept, troubled, weary, disturbed. Over and over 
the sentence was repeated in his brain: 

He had a grandson, Anthony ! ” 


128 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS, 


CHAPTEK VIII. 

JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 

Mrs. Nugent smiled and shook her head when 
her husband and her son reached home after visit- 
ing the Dacres. She listened to their enthusiastic 
descriptions of their work, and of the people them- 
selves. 

My dear Neddy, ” she said to the elder man, 

do you intend to die in harness ? ” 

Felicia, ” he answered, gravely, is not that 
the best way to die ? ’’ 

You promised — ” 

I know I did. But this is a purely selfish 
work. 

^"Purely selfish?’’ She looked at him with a 
merry twinkle in her eye. “Purely selfish, 
Neddy ? ” 

“ Yes. I am trying to save Edward from being 
forced to give up too much of his time to it. 
You know, Felicia, that Edward’s time is more 
valuable than mine — in a pecuniary sense, I 
mean, ” patting her hand gently. “ So I am 
doing this to save money.” 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS, 


129 


There was a laugh from the son’s lips, in which 
the mother joined, although the tears came to her 
eyes. Being a woman, she liked to chide her hus- 
band occasionally, hut she loved him with all her 
heart. To her this splendid husband of hers was 
dearer than any sweetheart ever had been. Often- 
times his reckless charity had deprived her of 
some anticipated pleasure, but she gave up every- 
thing and anything cheerfully for his sake, and 
with the hope, too, of sharing in the blessings that 
God gives to those who try to befriend their fellow- 
men. If Dr. Nugent made sacrifices, his wife 
made as many. 

The love and confidence they had for and in 
each other beamed out of their peaceful faces. 
Often Edward Nugent looked at them somewhat 
enviously, asking himself if he could expect to 
know such true happiness as theirs had been. 

The Nugent household was a happy one. The 
two elder brothers were in business in the city: 
they were both married, and had homes of their 
own. This fact, and the fact that Edward Nu- 
gent’s field would be a larger one here, had in- 
duced the father and mother to leave Abneyville. 
They wanted to be near their children, they said. 
Both daughters — Jessie and Regine — had shown 


130 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


talent for music and art, and the parents sent 
them to Europe to a relative of the mother’s ''to 
finish. ” It was Jessie who was expected home 
in a few weeks, and her coming was eagerly an- 
ticipated. 

It will appear more homelike to have our 
daughter in the house,” said Dr. Nugent, more 
than once. " I enjoy seeing a girl’s face about. 
Our sons are splendid, and we love them; but 
the tenderness of a home centers in its daughters.” 

^'If only Eegine were coming too,” said Mrs. 
Nugent with a sigh; for, as usual, from the 
Dacres’ affairs they had drifted to their own. 
" Aunt Sara says she will need the next six 
months — 

Aunt Sara is evidently prejudiced in the 
young man’s favor,” said Edward, slyly. 

" Oh, I won’t listen to you ! ” exclaimed the 
mother. " My Eegine or my Jessie married to a 
long-haired, dreamy-eyed artist, who will starve 
her to death ! ” 

You forget that she’s an artist herself ; and 
they can make enough to live on between them.” 

" Don’t talk like that, Edward. Surely the 
men my daughters marry will be able to support 
them. ” 


JE88IE NUGENT AND 0THER8. 131 

Mother dear, we\e sent Eegine away for the 
past four years to make the most of herself. Is 
it American-like for her to bury her talents and 
forget all she has learned because she marries ? ” 

“ Edward, I think you are a Woman’s Rights 
man. ” 

‘‘ Mother, I believe that women should exercise 
the gifts God gives them. There’s Jessie, now. 
You know how finely she played before Aunt 
Sara told you to have her finished out there — 
though to my mind she could have finished just as 
well here. We’ve got as good in America as any 
foreign land can boast of. ” 

‘‘Now, Edward — ” 

“ I won’t quarrel. That’s my private opinion, 
dear, and you’re welcome to yours. Think of 
Jessie playing just occasionally to entertain her 
friends or her husband, or amuse herself! Why, 
that would be a clear refusal to make the best of 
what is in her. It would be a sin. ” 

He spoke warmly. 

“ Those women I saw to-night, ” he said. “ Mrs. 
Dacre and Mrs. Lestrange! Father, weren’t you 
impressed by them?” 

^‘Very much so” 


132 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


Especially that Mrs. Lestrange. What a won- 
derful face she has! Mother, you will love her — 
such nobility, such sweetness, and such melan- 
choly ! I should like to hear her story. She must 
surely have a story worth listening to.^^ 

I know some of it, ” said Dr. Nugent. She 
lost her husband very suddenly when her child 
was two years old, and when her boy was five 
he was drowned. Some misunderstanding had de- 
prived her of her husband^s confidence, which 
meant that the greater portion of his wealth went 
to the man you met there — Mr. Frederic Le- 
strange. She did not mind that — she has little 
use for money. 

‘‘ Oh, I should not say that,” said Edward. He 
rose with a grave look on his young face — the look 
that made him appear so much older than his 
years. “ You know I’m a bit practical, father and 
niother — more practical than either of you. But 
there’s a change coming — I feel it. To-night 
something happened to me — there in that room 
with Mrs. Lestrange and Eoderic. I felt drawn to 
those two. The woman’s eyes asked me a question, 
and young Eoderic’s seemed to answer it.” He 
smiled then. Isn’t that a queer speech to hear 
from your prosaic son ? I am going to bed. ” 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 133 

He bent to kiss his mother as was his wont. Her 
eyes followed the handsome figure as it left the 
room: then she looked at her husband. 

“ Don’t you think that it is well he is a little 
bit more practical than the older Edward?” she 
asked. 

‘^Yes, dear. I think his wife will have more 
bonnets.” 

" More bonnets ! Pshaw ! I don’t mean that, 
Neddy.” 

^^You mean he won’t fill his wife’s home with 
cats and dogs and other people’s children.” 

‘^Perhaps I mean that.” And she laughed at 
him. 

* * * He * 

Jessie Nugent came home as expected. She 
was her mother’s own self in face and figure, as 
well as sunny nature. Her sweet disposition had 
been wholly unspoiled by her sojourn on the Con- 
tinent, and one forgot that she was not pretty, in 
the happiness that seemed to radiate from her. 
She had improved very much during her four 
years’ absence — had learned much that she would 
not have learned had she remained under the 
shelter of her father’s roof. Whatever may have 
been harmful in her experience had been neutral- 


134 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


ized ]Dy devotion to her art. When, after supper, 
on the night of her arrival, they heard their 
daughter — whom they had always considered a 
genius — play, they were satisfied and delighted. 
She seemed a new being then; the sweet face 
dreamy and thoughtful; the eyes veiled; every 
thought engrossed in her beloved instrument. 
Edward Nugent’s eyes were shining as he bade 
his sister good-night, and he looked at her 
strangely. 

Father,” he said, the next day, let us take 
Jessie and mother to see Mrs. Lestrange.” 

The father laughed. 

“I’m glad Mrs. Lestrange is so much older 
than you, my son, or I should have to dread losing 
you.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t anything like that, father.” 

“ I know — I know. I’m only joking.” 

He felt rather than saw the change that had 
come to his son since meeting Claire. They 
spent much of their spare time with her — and 
young Roderic, with an earnestness that pre- 
cluded all doubt of his sincerity, came to Wilfrid 
Dacre, volunteering his services. 

“ Father doesn’t like it,” he said, in his boy- 
ish manner ; “ and mother scoffs at it. But I’m 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS, 


135 


irresistibly drawn to the thing. Somehow I canH 
help it.” 

your mother a religious woman?” asked 
Wilfrid Dacre, curious to find out why the son 
was so different from his surroundings. 

No,” said Eoderic, frankly. Mother’s 
good and lovely; but she’s in the world, you 
know, and you can’t expect people like her to 
be religious — or anything like that. Aunt Claire, 
now — I love my mother dearly, Mr. Dacre, very, 
very dearly. But you won’t think me ungrateful 
or unfilial if I say that I wish she resembled Aunt 
Claire.” 

There is nothing disloyal in the wish — ^your 
aunt is a wonderful woman,” said Wilfrid Dacre. 

What church do you attend ? ” 

" The Catholic, of course.” 

“Your mother—” 

“ No, mother’s not. Neither are the girls. 
But father said he wasn’t going to have any head 
of the Lestrange family belong to another faith. 
So I was a nominal Catholic until two or three 
years ago, when I found out a few things for 
myself, and began to practise it. There’s a dif- 
ference.” 

“ As night and day,” said Dacre, briefly. “ Do 


136 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


you know you look so much like Claire that you 
might be her son ? 

So mother says — she doesn’t like it. But I 
can’t help my looks, now, can I?” 

Dacre thought he seemed pleased, rather than 
otherwise. He did not know, nor did any one 
except the young fellow himself know, how un- 
happy his home was — especially since the meet- 
ing with Claire. Frederic Lestrange seemed 
possessed of some fiend of discontent, and Kod- 
eric’s silence — resolved on that night when he 
saw how his aims annoyed his father — seemed to 
drive him to distraction. Even the wife, who had 
always been able to bend her son to her will, found 
that a more powerful influence was at work. Dis- 
tressed and angry at this knowledge, she immedi- 
ately attributed it to Claire Lestrange. So the 
mention of her name was a signal of unpleasant- 
ness in that divided household, and Eoderic the 
target at which all was aimed — covert sneers and 
open complaints. 

But he maintained a reserve that was simply 
maddening to Frederic Lestrange, for it re- 
minded him of Claire — Claire, who had been 
wont to look at him with those calm blue eyes 
and pass him by; Claire, whose head had been 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 137 

wont to poise itself at just such an angle as she 
turned from him in a silence that no word of 
his could break. 

So it was with his son Eoderic. He felt, in 
the torture of those weeks, that he was growing 
to hate him. Surrounded by this unsympathetic 
atmosphere, the boy withdrew into himself, seek- 
ing more and more outside of it the comfort that 
he craved. In those days he took a pure delight 
in Claire Lestrange’s presence, and she, in turn, 
loved him for the boyish frankness that seemed 
so essentially a part of him. He found in Ed- 
ward Hugent a friend as true as steel, and, when 
he saw and heard what these people were doing 
with their lives, he looked upon his own empty 
days and sighed. He had no profession — it was 
not likely that his father ever would permit him 
to adopt one. He became a regular visitor to 
the Nugent household. Here he heard the 
cases’^ of the elder doctor discussed — vastly in- 
teresting, because they were connected with the 
Hacres and with Claire. He heard Edward Nu- 
gent tell of his latest experiments — of what he 
hoped to accomplish still. He heard Jessie Nu- 
gent relate the trials of her continental life, heard 
her play, heard her plan what she would do with 


138 JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS, 

her talents for God and for herself. He heard 
of Eegine Nugent, the young art student, whom 
one of the great French painters absolutely re- 
fused to allow to return home because of her 
talent. All this Eoderic Lestrange listened to 
with growing discontent in his soul. Here was 
no society small talk, no platitudes, no frittering 
away of time, no scattering of interests. Here 
were earnestness and reality. He longed for 
some stalf upon which to lean — some single pur- 
pose to fill out his days. 

Jessie Nugent, simple of life as of heart, was 
a new sort of woman to this young fellow. With 
no pretensions of any sort, no aspirations to shine 
to the envy of those less fortunate than herself, 
with a well-cultivated mind, and fingers almost 
magical in the command they had of the keys 
they touched, she dawned upon the young man 
as a revelation. He was an idealist by nature, 
exalting those whom he cared for far above him. 
His temperament was, in fact, too dreamy, too 
poetic, for the hard things of life he longed to 
encounter and overcome. The years were to 
teach him much. 

He was unconscious of the affection that grew 
up in his heart for Jessie Nugent. In three 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 139 

weeks’ time she had reached a peculiar position. 
He was slowly but surely giving her the first love 
of his boyish heart, and those who have known 
what this first love means will realize how much 
depends upon, its object. Jessie saw in him a 
well-favored lad, with a pleasant manner and a 
charm of speech. She had seen many of that sort, 
she and Eegine, in their life together with Aunt 
Sara at Mme. Duclerc’s pension. She had been 
used to admiration always, and to respect : these 
had been accorded her first in her own home, and 
therefore she went through life expecting both. 
She received both. 

Eoderic appealed to her because of his youth. 
His love was out of the question: she would have 
laughed it aside had there been even a hint of 
such a thing. But there was none, and she went 
on her way, planning her life and her duties for 
the future. 

She had spoken a great deal since her return 
of the young French artist studying under the 
master who was teaching Eegine. She praised 
him discreetly — brought in his name whenever 
she could, and at last Edward began to notice 
how often this was done. He had become even 
graver and more taciturn since Jessie’s home- 


140 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


coming, and often his eyes would follow her and 
Roderic with a question in them. 

Paul Delmar ! he said, one evening, when 
Jessie had just finished telling an amusing inci- 
dent that had occurred to her and Eegine in Paris. 

Did you eat or work a single hour without Paul 
Delmar ? 

There was a strange note in his voice. Jessie 
laughed out loud. 

^^Paul, like the poor, we had always with us.” 

Oh, did you ! And when, pray, is he coming 
to take you away from us ? ” 

The question startled the father and mother. 
Rodericks smile faded, and his blue eyes sought 
the girl’s face half -fearfully. She blushed. 

^^Not at all, I am afraid.” 

Afraid ? ” 

He may come — to visit father and mother.” 

And no one else ? ” 

Jessie looked at him roguishly. 

He will have his Regine with him.” 

It seemed as if a weight was lifted from the 
shoulders of every one in the room. Only the 
mother had words ready. 

Regine! My Regine to marry a French- 
man ! ” 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 141 

‘^Oh, his mother’s name was Kelly,” said Jes- 
sie, with a laugh. He isn’t too French. You’ll 
really like him — every one does. And he’s des- 
perately in love with Eegine.” 

The secret was out at last. She had promised 
to break it lightlj' — had promised her sister to 
do all she could to bring them to look upon Paul 
Delmar with favor. 

That is all right,” said Dr. Nugent, placidly. 

I expect men to be in love with my daughters — 
that is but natural. Your mother, my dear, had 
a score of lovers before I davmed on her dazzled 
vision.” ' 

There was another laugh at that. 

Surely Eegine doesn’t care for him ? ” said 
Mrs. Nugent, a bit anxiously. 

“Surely Eegine does,” said Jessie. “There, 
it’s out, mother — I promised to do it. He wanted 
to write ever so long ago, but she wouldn’t have 
it. I had to come home and explain. In March, 
when Eegine leaves, he will leave with her, pre- 
sent his credentials, and ask your consent to their 
engagement. Eegine will make no promise with- 
out your knowledge of it all.” 

“I am deeply gratified at Eegine’s sense of 
justice,” said Dr. Nugent. “And the young 


142 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


man, I dare say, will please even the critical Mrs. 
Nugent.” 

hope so,” said Jessie; ^^for they’re very 
much in love.” 

don’t see the necessity of waiting a year, 
then,” said the father. 

Cable them an immediate order to get mar- 
ried,” said Mrs. Nugent, with some sarcasm. 

Don’t,” laughed Jessie. Paul hasn’t a 
cent.” 

Worse and worse,” declared the mother. 
Well, I’m glad we know. I thought it was you, 
Jessie.” 

No, mother,” she answered, lifting her honest 
e3^es to her mother’s face. I am not so lucky.” 

With which enigmatical expression, she 
changed the conversation. Later, after Eoderic 
Lestrange had gone, Edward Nugent put his 
hand on her shoulder. 

To-night,” he .said, you remarked that you 
were not lucky in not having Paul Delmar’s love. 
The remark annoys me. Did you mean it ? ” 

She smiled up at him, but even with the smih 
he was surprised to see the tears that came to 
her eyes. 

meant it—-not Paul Delmar’s love — I don’t 


JESSIE NUGENT AND OTHERS. 


143 


want that. But it is lucky, I think, to have tlie 
love of a man as good as Paul Delmar. That 
is what I meant by that remark.” 

Jessie, are you sure — ^you’ve been away four 
years, you know — ^you must have met many peo- 
ple — are you sure you don’t want a word for 
yourself, as well as Kegine? Is there no Paul 
Delmar for you ? ” 

She looked away a moment. A frown came be- 
tween her brows. Then once again she brought 
her glance to his. 

Yes, Neddy,” she said ; there is a Paul Del- 
mar for me — some one a hundred per cent, better 
than Paul Delmar — to me.” 

His expression changed. 

You met him since you left us ? ” 

‘^Not once. I met him long before I went to 
France. And now I won’t answer another ques- 
tion.” He saw she meant it by the resoluteness 
of her face. Good-night, little boy.” 

‘^Good-night, little girl.” 

They smiled — it was their parting words since 
babyhood — and it brought back tender memories 
to both. 


144 


THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE prodigal’s RETURN. 

Jessie had always been Edward’s favorite — 
and in her eyes the king could do no wrong. He 
would not like to think that any man could come 
in and carry her away from them. It had an- 
noyed him to see Roderic Lestrange’s eyes fas- 
tened upon her in such an absorbed fashion — an- 
noyed him even though he felt that he knew Jessie 
too well to think that she could look with favor 
even on such a splendid fellow as Roderic. 

He was learning to appreciate Roderic more 
and more every day, but he was not yet prepared 
to admit that Jessie could care for him. 

But now a new question arose: Who was it 
that Jessie cared for ? 

Many things had kept him awake at night — 
study, examinations, the pursuance of a favorite 
line of thought. But nothing had come home to 
him with such entire force as this: Who was 
it Jessie cared for? Who was it that had claimed 


THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN. 


145 


her affection so long ago, held it during the years, 
and still retained it? 

He went to bed with the question unsolved, 
and lay awake pondering on it. In the dark his 
eyes were wide open, staring out o-f the window. 
He thought oi all the past in those long hours 
that elapsed between the time he went to bed 
and midnight. Sleep refused to come, although 
he wooed it in every way imaginable. He was 
restless — ^yes, and, though he could scarcely bring 
himself to acknowledge it, unhappy. 

He had been lying there so long that at length 
he resolved that he might as well read to pass 
the time away as to spend it in the manner he 
was doing. He was just ready to put this reso- 
lution into effect when he imagined that he heard 
a slight stirring of the vines outside his window. 
The sound struck already sharpened nerves. He 
lay quiet, listening. 

It came the second time. It seemed like the 
stealthy movement of a human body. And then 
Edward Kugent smiled. Who would come at 
that hour and in this way to his home? But 
again it came, and again. The young man 
slipped his hand under the pillow, grasping the 
revolver he carried with him when he was called 


146 


THE PRODIGAL^S RETURN. 


out at night. He knew now that he was not mis- 
taken. 

In a few minutes he saw a man’s shadow heavy 
against the pane. He never locked his window 
at night, and he heard the grunt of satisfaction 
with which the fellow discovered it open. Cau- 
tiously he poked his head into the room. Nugent 
lay with closed eyes, scarcely breathing. He felt 
that a ray of light swept his face. Then just as 
cautiously the intruder lowered himself to the 
floor. Edward Nugent watched him, and his 
eyes caught the glint of something shining in the 
man’s left hand. 

But still he did not move. 

The burglar went to the door, tried it, found 
it, too, unlocked. Then he moved softly about 
the room. Near Edward, on a table at his side, 
was his watch and a roll of bills. The young 
man had time to notice the irresolution of his 
midnight visitor. 

Why not try it ? ” he heard him mutter. I 
might he able — No, I won’t. I’ll settle things 
now for good.” 

He spoke savagely. Edward Nugent very 
quietly brought his revolver on a level with the 
man’s head. 


THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN. 


147 


Drop your knife,” he said then, coolly, or 
I’ll blow your brains out. Wait — don’t go to that 
window. Another step, and I’ll kill you where 
you stand.” 

“ You couldn’t do me a greater favor,” was the 
strange reply. Shoot away, young man.” 
Edward Yugent started violently. 

Who are you ? ” he asked, in a whisper. 
Who are you ? Light the gas, and let me look 
at you, for I swear I know your voice ! ” 

The strange intensity of his whispering tones 
made the other tremble with excitement. 

" Light the gas ! ” cried Edward Nugent then. 
Strike a match — anything — let me see you ! 
Oh, Anthony, Anthony, Anthony ! ” 

The name was a sob of reproach, of joy, of love, 
of tenderness. Throwing aside his weapon, Ed- 
ward Nugent leaped from his bed, struck another 
match — for the first had fallen from the in- 
truder’s shaking fingers — and lit the gas. The 
glare of light could not disguise the expression 
on those two faces. 

Anthony! Anthony, my brother!” said Ed- 
ward, holding out his arms. My dear brother ! ” 
Shame, doubt, wonder, joy, passed in quick 
succession over the face opposite him. 


148 


THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 


Neddy !” he said. “You don’t mean it — it’s 
a dream — it’s a dream that I’ll awake from as 
I have from all others. 0 Neddy, it isn’t you 
— it isn’t — and with a welcome for me after all.” 

“ Why, what have you done ? ” simply. “ Let 
the world say what it will, my brother Anthony 
but made a mistake, and that is all. So you’ve 
come home to us, at last ! ” 

The other could not believe in the reality of 
this reception. He stood staring at him — and 
then, turning, sank heavily into a chair. 

“ I’m afraid,” he said, after a moment — “ I’m 
afraid. It can’t be true.” 

“ But it is true,” persisted Edward. “ Can’t 
you feel the truth of it ? ” He stooped and took 
his hands and wrung them warmly. “Is that 
real? Feel me.” He bent so that the other 
could look into his eyes. “Look at me. I’m 
Neddy.” 

“ How do you come here ? My mother — ” 

Safe and well, thank God, and father too. 
Only worried and anxious, and praying every 
moment of their lives for their son Anthony.” 

“ Good God ! ” groaned the other. 

“Father has left no stone unturned to find 
you. There is not a prison nor a hospital he has 


THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 


149 


not searched over and over. We came to New 
York to be with Tom and Bob — that's what we 
told every one, and tried to believe ourselves. 
But it was because we wanted to find Anthony.” 

The man dropped his head on his hands. 

Father is waiting — mother is waiting! I 
have been waiting ! And so you've come home ! ” 
haven't,” he said, between his shut teeth — 
haven't come home. I've been in jail four 
years — finishing my term. Am I not a credit to 
the Nugents? I can find nothing to do — ^no one 
to give me a helping hand — and I came here. 
Why, do you think? Not because I knew whose 
house it was — that I had no inkling of — but to 
sit down to a square meal, my last square meal, 
and let the people find my body in the morning. 
I was desperate — driven mad by lack of food, by 
hunger and privation. I had deserted God, and 
God had deserted me.” 

Edward Nugent realized then what depths of 
despair there may be in the human soul. His 
heart ached over this poor fellow, who faced him 
now with such longing in his eyes. His coun- 
tenance still bore the traces of prison pallor, but 
it was a handsome face withal — a fair and hand- 
some face. Not a bad face, by any means — 


150 THE PRODIGAVS RETURN. 

rather that of a man who has been controlled by 
circumstances. 

Talk things over with me/^ said Edward 
then. Will you, before you go any further, tell 
me just what has happened this past five years? 

I can’t. 1 have no desire to do better — no 
wish. I want to drift with the tide — and it’s low 
tide, Neddy, it’s low tide, I tell you. If I could 
get a motive — 

There was the sound of steps along the hall. 
Edward Nugent sprang to his feet, listening. 
Then he motioned toward the big wardrobe that 
stood at one side of the room, and the other, un- 
derstanding, sprang to it. In a second, almost, 
there was a tap at the door. 

“Are you awake, Neddy?” called his father’s 
voice. 

“ Yes,” said the young man, promptly. “ Como 
in, father.” 

“I thought I heard voices,” said Dr. Nugent, 
looking about the room. “ What’s the matter — 
can’t you sleep ? ” 

“No,” said Edward, quietly. “I’ve been ly- 
ing awake since I went to bed.” 

“ So have I — perhaps that is why I was so posi- 
tive I heard voices in here — I couldn’t under- 


THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN. 


151 


stand it. Guess I’ll sit down and talk to you. 
If you can’t sleep, either, why, we’ll keep each 
other company.” 

Edward smiled. 

That means you want to smoke too — and 
what will mother say? Supposing she came in 
on us — what do you think would happen ? ” 

Dr. Nugent shrugged his shoulders. 

She’d put the two of us out for doing any- 
thing so outrageous,” he said. We’d better 
not try it, eh? The smoke might wake her up.” 

Sit down — we’ll talk instead.” 

Yes.” 

The old man seated himself in the very chair 
that the prodigal had filled a moment since. 

How are you getting on with the Dacres ? ” 
was Edward’s first question. Do you get into 
enough prisons through their influence?” 

Plenty of them, plenty — and sad sights I see 
there. Heavens, what wrecks those men are — 
and women too, poor souls! It breaks my heart 
to look at them.” 

‘^And why do you go, father? Haven’t you 
done enough?” 

Perhaps I’ve done a little — one can never do 
enough.” 


152 


THE PR0DIGAH8 RETURN. 


" Don^t talk like that. YouVe done your 
share.^^ 

If I have done my share/^ said the older man, 
impressively, where is Anthony? Why can’t I 
find him? Is he living in degradation, or filling 
an unknown grave, disgraced and dishonored? 
Edward, the thought of him at times is madden- 
ing — If he could but feel, but know how I 
long for him, he would come — even if it were 
from another world.” 

Edward Nugent had never seen him so moved. 

‘^I do not speak of this to your mother,” he 
said, after a little. I dare say she, too, keeps 
such thoughts to herself, rather than annoy me. 
But to-night it seems as if I must speak. You, 
my dear son, will understand.” 

Edward Nugent’s eyes were misty. 

Indeed I do understand, my father,” he an- 
swered, brokenly. He can be sure of nothing 
but forgiveness and tenderness from his own.” 

Nothing but forgiveness and tenderness from 
his own,” repeated Dr. Nugent. What else, my 
son? After all, what was it he did? A boyish 
escapade — easily lived down — ” 

That’s it,” said Edward Nugent — lived 
down. Do you know what I think, my dear 


THE PR0DIQAV8 RETURN. 


153 


father? I think Anthony has gone away some- 
where, and, remembering yonr goodness and kind- 
ness, is trying to redeem himself, to live an honest 
life, before he asks you to take him back again as 
of old. This must be the reason why you can not 
find him. You expect to meet him in the ranks 
of the unfortunate still, but I think you will not 
come across him there.” His eyes began to kindle. 

N'o, father. He is an honest man, or trying to be 
one. Perhaps in a year’s time he will come for- 
ward of his own free will, and ask you to take 
him back again to his place in your heart.” 

His voice, full of earnest manliness, rang 
through the room. Dr. Nugent stared at him 
wistfully — there seemed something prophetic in 
the words. 

I hope you are right,” he said, finally. 

And I, my dear father, know that I am 
right. My convictions seem positive proof to 
me. We shall hear from Anthony yet — ” 

Well,” said the older man, rising, I sha’n’t 
keep you longer from your bed. But it would 
make no difference to me — 

Ah, yes it would,” said Edward Nugent, 
gently. ^^If you met your son, Anthony, now, 
this moment — and you understood that he was 


154 


THE PR0DIGAH8 RETURN. 


trying to make reparation, that it would help 
him if you waited his time to welcome him and 
not yours, you’d wait, father, you’d wait.” 

can not tell,” said Dr. Nugent, absently. 
“ The joy of seeing him, perhaps — ” His eyes 
sought a curious object lying on the table. 

What is that, Neddy ? ” 

With a swift movement the younger man tried 
to hide the object from his father’s view. But 
Dr. Nugent was too quick for him. He reached 
forward, and picked up the bull’s eye lantern and 
the murderous-looking knife. He stared at them 
— and then at Edward’s face. He reeled back- 
ward then. 

Not that, my God — not that ! ” he breathed, 
and Edward Nugent knew that he understood. 

Not that — not to take your life, Neddy, my boy 
— he did not come — ” 

Father, on my honor as a man, on every hope 
I have in life and afterward,” said Edward Nu- 
gent, ^^it was not that. Bather desperation — a 
fit of despondency — ” 

^^He is here?” 

^^In this room — here, within ten feet of you. 
But will you not wait his time? Let him redeem 
himself. Father, he craves that chance to redeem 


THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN 


155 


himself ere he feels your arms about him. Let 
him show you how he loves and honors you and 
is willing to atone.’^ 

said Dr. Nugent. His fine face was 
grief-stricken. To-night I will make the great- 
est sacrifice of my life, for my boy’s sake. I will 
not ask to say one woM to him — I will not ask 
to hold his hand, if he will but step out where I 
may see him. Only one look, that I may keep 
it with me until his time comes.” 

There was breathless silence. Dr. Nugent 
turned toward the door, and as he did so the 
wardrobe door swung open and a man stepped 
from it into the room. He folded his arms across 
his chest, and raised his face to the light, con- 
cealing nothing. The fair hair clustered about 
his temples, damp with perspiration. Great sobs 
burst from his throat. The tears were streaming 
down his face, unchecked, unheeded. He held 
his face to the light that his father might look 
upon him. 

Dr. Nugent went to the door. Hungrily his 
eyes devoured the features that he loved. This 
child had learned his prayers at his father’s knee. 
This child had been treasured as were his other 
children. But he had been the unfortunate one. 


156 


THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN, 


and all the strength of this man’s strong nature 
went out to him in his weakness. He was strong 
now — not weak — his boy Anthony. His lips 
twitched. Only two strong men could have done 
what these two men were doing now — hungry for 
the sound of each other’s voices, longing for the 
touch of each other’s arms, yet simply looking at 
each other and trusting to the future. Ho one 
could look at such a sight unmoved. Slowly Dr. 
Hugent unclosed the door, slowly he drew his 
gaze away from that pathetic face, and w^ent out- 
side. They listened to his footsteps. How they 
dragged! How every fiber of his nature clung 
to that room, and to that erect form, to that un- 
fortunate child of his ! 

Edward Nugent came forward and took An- 
thony’s arm. His own eyes were filled with tears. 

‘^And yet you say you can do nothing?” he 
asked. You want a motive ? Anthony, haven’t 
you a motive now ? ” 

For answer the young fellow stumbled toward 
the bed, where he threw himself in an agony of 
passion. Edward waited until the first paroxysm 
of grief wore away and he was calmer. 

^^Now we’ll have something to eat, and talk 
over our plans,” he said. I’ve been doing a lot 


THE PR0DIGAH8 RETURN. 


157 


of thinking since you came in, Anthony. Let us 
put our heads together. But not until I get you 
food. I’ll go to the pantry and see what I can 
find. Bolt the door behind me, and don’t let any 
one in until I come back.” 

They sat far into the night talking, these two, 
and when Anthony rose to his feet at last, it 
seemed to him that he had been born again. 
There was a look of resolution and courage on his 
face. 

We’re about the one height, ” said Edward. 

Jump into my bathtub, and I’ll lay you out a 
suit of clothes. You’ve made up your mind now, 
and I want you to start inside as well as out. 
Then I’ll go with you to the nearest hotel, and 
stay there with you until to-morrow.” 

“ Nedd}^,” said Anthony Nugent, as he went to 
bed for a few hours’ sleep that morning, ‘^it 
doesn’t seem possible I’ll be able to pay you back 
now. But I’ll do it.” 

‘'Pay me back!” said Edward Nugent, with 
a curious smile. “ Give my father one moment’s 
happiness, and I will devote my life to you.” 

“ How much better a son you are to him than 
I have been ! ” said the other. 

“I should be,” was the answer; “but let us 


158 THE PRODIGAUS RETURN. 

not talk of that. We have lots of time to talk 
over our merits and demerits in the future — 
which, please God, we shall spend together.^’ 
Which, please God, we shall spend together, 
echoed Anthony Nugent. 

When your time comes,” smiled Edward. 

“ Not mine, but God’s.” 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


159 


CHAPTER X. 

RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 

By much circumv6ntion Frederic Lestrange 
had avoided telling Anthony Wasdale the real 
reason why he had asked him to return after such 
a curt and high-handed dismissal. He had given 
him a sum of money the next day, and told him 
to hold himself in readiness to do some further 
work for him. Nothing pleased Wasdale better 
than this prospect, for he knew that, while Le- 
strange needed him, his supply of money would 
not fail. Frederic Lestrange might have many 
faults, but he was a good payer. So, in obedi- 
ence to his commands, Wasdale kept himself well 
concealed, and only an occasional note or two 
showed that he was ready at any moment for 
what work Lestrange might ask of him. 

Meanwhile> there was much for Frederic Le- 
strange to do. He had to discover what had hap- 
pened to old Simon Wasdale^s grandson. In 
order to find this out he went to Abneyville in 
person. 


160 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


Every one in Abneyville knew and loved the 
Nugents, and almost on his arrival there Fred- 
eric Lestrange secured the information he sought. 

Dr. Nugent had had three sons — and another 
son by adoption. Was there one by the name of 
Anthony? He had a son Anthon}^ yes — it was 
this son who had gotten into wild company, and 
run off with a traveling show when he was about 
eighteen. He had never been like the other Nu- 
gent boys — always a little wild and peculiar, but 
good-hearted and handsome. 

That was all Frederic Lestrange desired to 
know — where Anthony Nugent might be. Later, 
they told him, rumors had come that he had 
gone from bad to worse, and some said he was 
in jail for a term of years. When this rumor 
spread, the old doctor had never seemed content. 
He was always anxious to get away from Abney- 
ville. Until at last the family did go. 

After that, Lestrange, for politeness’ sake, was 
forced to listen to a disquisition on the new doc- 
tor, and how far he fell short of Dr. Nugent’s 
perfections. He listened with patience, for his 
thoughts were busy. He was glad he had re- 
tained Wasdale. Wasdale had many friends 
among the unfortunates who made a living by 


RODERIC Ara HIS FATHER. 


161 


preying on society, and he busily outlined a plot. 
Wasdale must begin a search for Anthony Nu- 
gent — and at once. He must find him. 

Once found, what then? 

Lestrange had been a respectable man, even in 
thought, a good many years. He had not shrunk 
from removing Claire’s child from his path when 
Claire’s child stood in the way of his achieving 
his ambitions. Now, in a cold-blooded manner, 
he asked himself if he could risk murder a second 
time. 

I am a murderer, virtually, now,” he told 
himself. ^^To win all the things that I possess 
to-day, I did not fear to commit a crime. Why 
should I fear to carry out the plans which I pro- 
jected then? Through the carelessness of my 
tool they miscarried, and now this man must do 
what he agreed to do. He must do that for which 
I paid him. 

^^But why through murder? Is that neces- 
sary? There are many ways to drive a man to 
the irrevocable step. Wasdale must study his 
weaknesses; must live with him; must give him 
every chance to ruin himself. He shall ruin him- 
self — if it ruins me.” 

The cruelty of the man was apparent in the 


162 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


venom of the last thought. He hated Claire — he 
hated her child. And he loved the things which 
unlimited wealth had brought him. He did not 
know regret — he had gotten all he desired — and 
in God’s good time, he thought, derisively, let 
God repay! 

God v/ould — but Frederic Lestrange did not 
think of that. He was still to learn that God’s 
ways are not ours. 

He shook the dust of Abne 3 wille from his feet 
that very night, and sent for Anthony Wasdale 
on his arrival home. He had not long to wait. 
At nine o’clock William admitted his master’s 
unpleasant acquaintance to the smoking-room. 

‘'^Are you ready for me now?” was the first 
question on Wasdale’s lips, and Frederic Le- 
strange looked at him as contemptuously as ever. 

Yes, I’m ready,” he said — quite ready. 
You’re to finish the work I paid you thirty thou- 
sand dollars for twenty-one years ago.” 

The other looked at him, startled. The cold- 
ness, the masterful manner of this man, had al- 
ways awed him, held him under control. 

What are you talking about ? ” 

^‘1 thought you were honorable — at least to 
those that paid you,” said Frederic Lestrange. 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


163 


You believe that my nephew died of fever while 
under your father^s care ? ” 

He wrote me that.” 

"He lied. He sold the child to a physician, 
who brought him up as his own. And he is 
alive.” 

"Alive?” echoed Wasdale, in a curious voice. 

"Yes; he’s alive. I knew that the last time I 
saw you. Very much alive, as far as I am aware. 
But I do want to find out how you intend keep- 
ing your part of the bargain. I treated you pretty 
fair, if you can remember. I put you on your 
feet, and gave you enough to keep you comfort- 
ably all your life.” 

" What can I do now ? ” asked the other. " My 
father’s dead — and all his people. There’s no 
one alive belonging to me — my youngest son, 
maybe. He’s probably a respectable farmer some- 
where out West — the institution sends them away 
when they come of age — ” 

" Or following the profession of his parent 
down East, if there’s the same drop in him,” said 
Lestrange, sarcastically. 

"I hope not,” said the other, mildly enough. 
" His mother was a good woman.” 

Frederic Lestrange laughed. 


164 


RODERIG AND HIS FATHER. 


That does not gives me back my thirty thou- 
sand dollars.” 

There was silence for fully five minutes. Then 
Wasdale leaned forward. 

What do you want me to do ? ” he asked. 

Find that fellow, and get him out of the 
way,” snapped Lestrange. 

‘^Kill him?” 

No.” 

^^What then?” 

Teach him to drink himself to death — ruin 
him, body and soul.” His lip curled. It will 
be odd to have Claire Lestrange’s son keep me 
company in the nether world.” 

Wasdale did not hear the last sentence — he was 
deep in thought — a frown on his forehead. 

How am I to know who took him or what his 
name is?” 

His name? He is Anthony Nugent, son of 
Dr. Edward Nugent, late of Abney ville, now of 
New York. He has been in prison, is probably 
there now. It is said that Dr. Nugent came to 
the city to search for his son. He has not found 
him yet — it depends now on you whether or not 
he will ever find him.” 

Anthony Nugent ! ” mused Wasdale. Never 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER, 


165 


heard of him. If he’s one of the boys, I ought 
to know him. Well, Lestrange,” he said, easily 
enough, and with an assumption of equality that 
made Frederic Lestrange frown, “ I’ll come 
back as soon as I’ve got news. I’ll get what I 
can out of the rest of the crowd — but it takes 
a little cash.” 

^^As usual,” said Frederic Lestrange. ‘^Bear 
one thing in mind, Wasdale. I’m in no humor 
to throw away any more than I have. I gave you 
thirty thousand dollars for nothing. I dare say 
you’d be willing to take thirty thousand dollars 
more for the same thing. But I’m not doing 
anything so rash. I’ll give you fifty now — not 
another cent. And nothing more, unless you tell 
me something worth while. I’m not a good thing, 
remember.” 

I’ll remember,” said Wasdale, briefly. If 
it’s a week before you hear from me, don’t be sur- 
prised. I’ll be working.” 

Lestrange nodded carelessly. The other got 
up and left him, and Lestrange lighted a cigar, 
and sat with it between his lips, alternately chew- 
ing and puffing. His thoughts were decidedly 
unpleasant, and he was in no mood to be inter- 
rupted, even by his son. It was his son who came 


166 


ROD ERIC AND HI 8 FATHER. 


in, with a half-smile on his lips and a strange 
light in his handsome blue eyes. 

Father,’^ he said, I^ve come to ask you to 
do me a favor.” 

Frederic Lestrange looked at him, sourly 
enough. 

favor?” 

Yes.” He bent over the back of a big chair, 
with a confident expression on his face. We’ve 
been a bit chilly, this last few weeks, but I wish 
we could forget all about it, father — it’s noth- 
ing.” 

^^Well, what do you want, Koderic?” asked 
the father, in a softened tone. 

I want you to come to Aunt Claire’s with me 
to-night.” 

I will not go.” 

Hot to meet Aunt Claire, but the Hugents — 
Mrs. Nugent and Miss Jessie.” 

I — will — not — go !” said Frederic Lestrange, 
in a thundering voice. And then a sudden 
thought struck him. He sat back, and chewed 
the end of his cigar once more. At last he 
said, more quietly : Why do you ask me any- 
thing so prepostero-us ? ” 

do not know — I thought you might enjoy 


RODERIG AND HIS FATHER. 167 

meeting them again — and the young lady plays 
so beautifully.” Eoderic’s voice showed the re- 
straint he put upon himself to hide his disap- 
pointment. 

Will the rest of the family be there — the old 
doctor and the young one ? ” 

^‘1 believe they will — old Dr. Nugent, any- 
how.” 

Frederic Lestrange was silent, his brows 
drawn together. At last he looked up into Eod- 
eric^s cold face. 

Very well — 1^11 go. When are you ex- 
pected ? ” 

At about eight — they are not fashionable 
folk.” 

Try as he would, the young man could not 
keep the sneer from his tones. He had been 
wounded by that rebuff, and his sensitive nature 
did not recover quickly. His father’s consent 
seemed grudgingly given, and for the moment he 
felt that he was coming against his will. 

^^Do not visit these people to please me,” he 
said. only thought of giving you pleasure — 
it will spoil what pleasure I might have if I 
feel that you are doing this contrary to your own 
wishes or inclination.” 


168 


RODERIC AVD HIS FATHER, 


Frederic Lestrange laughed. 

not fret, my son. I have changed my 
mind, thaFs all — almost as effectually as these 
people have changed your disposition. How old 
is the young lady, may I ask ? 

His tone conveyed his thoughts quite plainly. 
Roderic flushed. 

I have never asked her age,^’ he said. Her 
age does not interest me.’^ 

And he left the room. 

^ ^ 

Frederic Lestrange was a man of quick per- 
ceptions, and he noticed at once that Mrs. Nugent 
and her daughter were constrained in his pres- 
ence. Jessie, always prepared to welcome people 
for what they appeared to be, did not like this 
courtly, white-haired gentleman, with the cold 
eyes and the thin, repressed mouth. Nor was 
she prepared, ever, to affect a liking that she did 
not feel. Her mother, too, was repelled by his 
stiff manner, and Roderic, noting the difference, 
was in misery. 

Dr. Nugent, however, was too broad-minded to 
pay much attention to intuition, and soon he and 
Frederic Lestrange, seated in a corner by them- 
selves, were engrossed in conversation, while the 


ROD^RIO Ai^D RIS PATMER. 


169 


young people sat with the Dacres and with Claire. 
When Jessie played, all conversation ceased. Dr. 
Nugent was exceedingly proud of his daughter’s 
talents, as he well might be, and he noted, with 
keen satisfaction, the somewhat astonished ex- 
pression on Lestrange’s handsome face as he 
listened. 

Quite extraordinary ! ” he said. She has 
wonderful technique.” 

do not think so much of her technique as 
of the feeling she can put into her music.” 

Yes,” said Lestrange, absently. “ She is 
quite young, isn’t she ? ” 

Twenty-three.” 

She looks younger than that.” 

None of my children look old — Edward, per- 
haps on account of hard study. But he does not 
look old now.” 

^^No; he is quite boyish at times. You have 
other children ? ” 

Several. Eegine is studying art in Paris. 
We expect her home next year.” 

^^Any boys?” 

^^Tom and Bob, the two eldest. Both in the 
banking business.” 

Indeed — didn’t I hear something about a 


170 


RODERIG AND HIS FATHER. 


son named Anthony Between the half closed 
lids the eyes were sharp and glittering. 

Yes/^ said Dr. Nugent. An expression of 
sadness clouded his fine face a moment. ^^Yes/^ 
he continued, ‘‘1 have a son Anthony.” 

Is he in the banking business too ? Oh, 
pardon me ! My questions may seem imperti- 
nent, but I am really interested. Your son Ed- 
ward and Miss Jessie seem so talented. I should 
like to meet the other members of the family.” 

Thank you. I can understand your interest. 
I have not seen my son since about a month ago.” 

Frederic Lestrange dared not press the ques- 
tion further. Try as he would, think as he 
would, he could imagine no other way in which 
to bring up the subject again. So he listened 
with what grace he could command to the talk 
and gay chatter of the young people at the piano. 

Going away ! ” he heard Claire Lestrange 
say, in her sweet voice. ^^Is not this a very 
sudden resolution. Dr. Nugent?” 

Oh, no,” was the young man’s smiling an- 
swer. ‘^1 have been thinking about it almost 
a month. I want to strike out on new lines, and, 
now that the chance offers, I feel that I ought 
to take it.” 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


171 


On the way home Frederic Lestrange spoke 
to his son Eoderic. 

Where is young Nugent going he asked. 

To one of the Western cities — San Francisco, 
I believe.^^ 

What can be his reason ? ” 

Family reasons, I think. Intimate as I am 
with him, I have never asked him for them. And 
no one seems to understand why he is going except 
his father.” 

^‘YouVe met all the Nugents, haven’t you, 
Roderic ?” 

^‘Yes, sir; all except the youngest daughter, 
who is in Paris.” 

^^What is Anthony Nugent like?” 

Anthony Nugent? Anthony? There’s a 
Tom and Bob — but Anthony — ” 

“Yes, Anthony. Dr. Nugent told me he saw 
him a month ago.” 

“ I have never met him, father, nor heard his 
name mentioned.” 

“ Queer ! I suppose he’s the black sheep of 
the family, and they don’t care to mention him. 
But still you see such a friend — ” 

Eoderic Lestrange looked puzzled. 

“I am very intimate,” he said — “almost like 


172 RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 

one of themselves. Are you sure there’s an An- 
thony, father ? ” 

Dr. Nugent told me so himself.” 

Perhaps he’s not in the city, then — he can’t 
be. His mother has never uttered his name — nor 
Miss Jessie.” 

Supposing you try to find out something 
about him for me,” said Frederic Lestrange, in 
a musing tone. 

Oh, father, I wouldn’t bring up anything 
like that. If they wanted to discuss him before 
me, they would probably have done so of their 
own accord. What do you think of Miss Jessie’s 
playing?” 

^^Very fine — very fine, indeed.” 

I thought you would like it. I wish you 
knew her — she is a very sweet girl.” 

Oh, I suppose so. You’ll meet many sweet 
girls before you die or marry one of them — any 
amount of them willing to be ultrasaccharine for 
the sake of your father’s money.” 

Don’t,” said Eoderic, in a low tone. Haven’t 
you any illusions left, father?” 

“None, my son.” 

“Didn’t you love mother? Surely money — ” 

And Frederic Lestrange laughed — he threw 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 173 

his head back and laughed — in such a way as 
to make Koderic stare at him dubiously. He did 
not like that laugh. 

Your mother, my boy ? Why, I idolized her. 
I would have committed any crime to win her. 
And she loved me. But I had to have money. 
She would not take me ungilded.” 

“ Father, that isn’t true.” 

“ So true that, if your Aunt Claire’s young son 
had not drowned himself at such a fortunate 
time, you v/ould probably never have been in ex- 
istence. My son, do not put faith in a woman’s 
promises unless you have the money to back you. 
A woman will love you dearly, if you can pay her 
bills.” 

That sounds like treason from my mother’s 
husband.” 

It is wisdom from your father’s experience.” 

And knowing that, you have been happy ? ” 

^^Very happy — very happy. I am willing to 
pay the price.” 

Eoderic said no more. The words hurt him, 
and the vein of thought they indicated outraged 
every sentiment of his poetic nature. He knew 
that a great love existed between his father and 
mother — this knowledge often made him ideally 


174 


RODERIC AND HIS FATHER. 


happy. He had never heard such sentiments as 
these from his father’s lips, and he was sur- 
prised to feel how keenly they seemed to pierce 
his heart. 

Was that the way with Jessie Nugent too? 


GOD DISPOSES. 


175 


CHAPTER XL 

AND GOD DISPOSES. 

‘^Edward,” said Jessie, in a low tone, 
would like to speak to you alone to-night before 
you go to bed. Will you try to arrange it? ” 

Edward Nugent looked at her curiously. 

^^Why, Jessie?’^ 

Must I explain my reasons for wanting to 
speak to you alone ? somewhat stiffly. 

No,” he hesitated a moment — no, Jessie. 
You want to ask me why I am going to San 
Francisco — ^you want to know what motive com- 
pels me. Jessie, I can^t tell you. So I won’t 
see you alone to-night, for you might induce me 
to break my resolution. Only know that it is 
not for my own sake.” 

Her lip curled. 

It is for Anthony’s, then.” 

He started, giving her a strange glance. Their 
father loved her dearly, that he knew. Could it 
be possible that he — 

• Have I no intuitions of my own ? ” she asked 


176 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


then. What would drive you so far away from 
home but a quixotic notion ? Her eyes flashed. 

I do not know where Anthony is, or what he 
is doing. He may be in prison, he may be free 
as air — but if he can not redeem himself here — 
here, in this very city which has seen his degrada- 
tion — oh, Edward, I have not been blind! Do 
you think you could keep my father’s sorrow, my 
mother’s melancholy, a secret from me? If An- 
thony does not redeem himself here, he will do 
so nowhere else. Only cowards run away.” 

The scorn in her voice was genuine. Edward 
Nugent turned his head. 

It won’t be necessary to see you alone, now,” 
she went on, pitilessly. '^I don’t know what 
scheme you and father have concocted between 
you; but that it has to do with Anthony I 
know — ” 

^^You love Anthony, Jessie — ^you have always 
loved him. He is your Paul Delmar — ” 

Jessie laughed. 

No, he is not. I love Anthony with true sis- 
terly affection — I love him dearly — better, per- 
haps, than any of my brothers, because women 
are apt to add pity to their love when the object 
is unfortunate. Only remember that sometimes 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


177 


a woman’s intuition is keener, truer, than the 
reasoning of men. Don’t go away with Anthony. 
Keep him here, if he is here.” 

Edward Nugent leaned forward, and gripped 
her arm with tense fingers. A peculiar expres- 
sion was on his face, and his eyes were glowing 
in the darkness. 

Jessie, I demand to know the name of the 
man you love.” 

She looked at him, her sweet face transformed 
by the pride, the haughtiness, that seemed to 
freeze every feature of it. 

^^You have no right to make such a demand, 
and I shall not answer you.” 

« Jessie—” 

That will do, Edward. I do not care to hear 
any more.” 

I did not mean — ” 

^^You are treating me like a child — like the 
child you knew before I went away. I refuse 
to be treated in that manner. I can only repeat 
what I said to you. Let Anthony work out his 
salvation here. It will be his only safeguard for 
the future.” 

She left him then, running lightly up the stairs 
before him. He stood looking after her, until 


178 


AlSfD GOB DISPOSES, 


his father called him. He called his name a sec- 
ond time before Edward heard. 

Jessie meanwhile went to her room. She 
closed the door very quietly. The tears were 
streaming down her face, her bosom heaving. 

0 poor Anthony, poor Anthony ! she mur- 
mured, brokenly. 

She took off her hat and threw it upon the bed. 

And to go so far away — I could not stand it 
— I could not. The length of the continent! 
Who knows what might happen? Wlio knows? 
No, he must do his duty here.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Wasdale lost no time in trying to discover the 
whereabouts of Anthony Nugent. But the young 
man was a newcomer in the ranks in which Was- 
dale sought him; and even when he succeeded in 
identifying him with ^^Tony the Dude,” as he 
was called, no one could tell where he had gone 
or what had become of him. 

He reported this to Frederic Lestrange, and 
received one line of instruction: 

Follow Edward Nugent.” 

This he did for many days, but at first he 
did not catch him during his brief visits to his 
brother. More than that, Wasdale did not expect 


AND GOD DISPOSES, 


179 


to find the discreditable one in a fashionable 
hotel. At last, discovering no other trace of 
him, he dogged young Dr. Nugent’s footsteps to 
the Metropolis. Patience was rewarded then, 
for here he came across the man he wanted. 

Once more he wrote to Frederic Lestrange. 
The man was found — what was he to do with 
him? Preparations were in order for his de- 
parture, and there seemed no way in which Was- 
dale could reach him. It was all very well for 
Frederic Lestrange to tell him to ^^make a 
way.” That was impossible under the circum- 
stances. 

But Frederic Lestrange was not without fer- 
tility of ideas. Briefiy he outlined a plan, and 
saw that it was put into execution. 

Anthony Nugent, seated reading in his own 
room, was surprised that morning to receive a 
call from a tall and stately gentleman, wearing 
heavy glasses and a thick beard slightly streaked 
with gray. The man was refined and well bred 
of manner, and Anthony was prepossessed, if 
anything, in his favor, before he opened his lips. 

Dr. Nugent sent me to you,” said the 
stranger, in a pleasant way. He has been 
called to a case many miles from here — a case 


180 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


that will probably keep him a fortnight. I am 
a colleague of his — Dr. Stewart, at your service.’^ 

Anthony bowed. Behind the thick glasses the 
eyes studied him sharply. Anthony^s face, now 
that the dread of what the future might have in 
store for him was removed, was a handsome one: 
the mouth a trifle weak, the nose prominent, the 
eyes full and large. What the visitor saw in this 
countenance must have satisfied him, for he 
smiled. There was a covert satisfaction in that 
smile. 

His case takes him to a country place — a 
house of good standing and people who will do 
much to further his interests. He has been 
called in consultation with a number of other 
physicians whose reputations are world- wide. He 
asked me — I am a resident there — to call here 
for you, and to bring you back with me.” 

He wants me ? ” asked Anthony, incredu- 
lously. ‘'Why?” 

“ That I can not tell — he did not give me his 
reasons.” 

The visitor pulled out his watch. 

“ I must catch my train in thirty minutes — • 
Dr. Nugent started on an earlier one,” he pur- 
sued. “ If you care to accompany me, I shall be 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


181 


delighted. If not, I will convey any message 
you may have for him.” 

Message ? Oh, no,” said Anthony, bewil- 
dered. He said nothing about this to me yes- 
terday.” 

I left last night — only saw him a little while 
ago myself. I dare say he did not know it. Er — 
will you get ready — or shall I start ? ” He spoke 
in an offhanded, careless manner. 

“No,” said Anthony; “he must have a reason 
for wanting me, of course — certainly I will go. 
Thirty minutes, you said? That is short notice, 
but I can get ready.” 

He was much confused. From the stranger’s 
whole appearance Anthony was convinced of the 
truth of what he said, and there was no time 
to speculate on what sudden notion had taken 
Edward. Anthony was prepared to do anything 
Edward told him to do, but ponder as he might, 
he could not understand why Edward wished him 
to leave the city. 

“Unless it is that he feels that he can not 
trust me,” he said, not without some sadness at 
the thought. “ Well, I’ve deserved it — I know 
I’ve deserved it. He’s been more to me, and 
done more for me, than any one else ever could 


182 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


or would do. I’ll try to show him that I’m grate- 
ful.” 

While these thoughts ran through his mind, 
he packed what things he might find necessary 
in a small grip. In less than ten minutes he 
signified to the stranger, who had withdrawn to 
the window to wait for him, that he was ready. 
Together they left the room. 

Anthony Nugent stepped to the desk, gave the 
clerk his key, and also paid his bill. 

^‘I have been called out of town suddenly,” 
he said. I may or may not return. I won’t 
be back for two weeks, anyhow.” 

A carriage was waiting at the door, and into 
this Dr. Stewart motioned Nugent to enter. 
They were driven rapidly in the direction of 
the station. As the cab rolled around the corner 
of the avenue, Anthony gave a violent start and 
leaned forward, straining his eyes after the figure 
of a man going up the street. 

“ Strange ! ” he said. Imagination, I sup- 
pose. I could have sworn that that was my 
brother Edward.” 

A resemblance, I daresay,” said the stranger, 
carelessly. 

A strong resemblance,” answered Anthony, 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


183 


with some emotion. He could not explain the 
queer feelings that swept over him. He was filled 
with a sort of regret, bordering on melancholy, 
at what he considered Edward^s lack of trust in 
him. 

At the station a man stepped up to Dr. Stewart 
and saluted him. 

My man,’’ explained Dr. Stewart, with a wave 
of his hand. Give him your grip ; he might as 
well take care of that while he’s about it. Every- 
thing all right, Clif?” 

All right, sir,” responded the man. Anthony 
was too much occupied with his thoughts to notice 
the quick glance of understanding that passed 
between them. He made an attempt to buy his 
own ticket, but Dr. Stewart smiled deprecatingly. 

Your brother, sir, has seen to all that,” he 
said. 

They were seated in the parlor car, and Stew- 
art seemed suddenly transformed into a new 
man. Up to this he had been a bit taciturn and 
distant. How he expanded into a genial 
mood and opened an ipteresting conversation. 
Anthony, listening with scant attention at first, 
and answering briefly, was drawn into it at last, 
and the next few hours passed very quickly. 


184 


AND GOD DI8P08ES;. 


They had stopped at a wayside station, where 
they were delayed some minutes on account of 
an express train which had been scheduled for 
a quarter of an hour before. As their own cars 
moved out with increasing speed, Anthony Nugent 
bent forward. 

By Jove ! he said. I never asked you where 
I am going. What is the name of the place?” 

There was evident hesitation in his compan- 
ion's manner. He looked at him and stroked his 
beard. 

The name of the place to which we are going 
is — Lestrange,” he answered, very slowly. 

Lestrange ? Lestrange?” Anthony looked 
puzzled. “Fve never heard of it.” 

^^No; few people know it. It’s an out-of-the- 
way town : not large — only about six hundred in- 
habitants — and the Lestranges own the most of 
it. You never heard of the Lestranges? ” 

Never. Is that where Edward is?” 

^^Yes; at their house. A fine family — the best 
in their part of the country.” 

^‘What is the case? A child?” 

^^Yes,” said the other, grimly; ‘^a child is 
mixed up in it.” 

Anthony looked at him inquiringly. 


AND GOD DISPOSES, 


185 


Mixed up in it?” 

^'That’s only a way we have of talking about 
cases,” said Stewart, genially enough. '^You’ll 
probably be sick of the whole thing before they 
release Dr. Nugent. You see he is a surgeon of 
great repute in spite of — ” 

That was all Anthony Nugent heard. A fear- 
ful crashing sound broke upon their ears, the 
cars swayed and trembled, there was a hiss, a 
snort, a roar, and then the screaming of terrified 
women, the shouting of terrified men, rent the 
air. Nugent’s lips unclosed: 

What is it ? ” he said. Wliat has happened ? 
Who—” 

He saw his companion start to his feet, and in 
the confusion of the moment Anthony made a 
grab at him. He beat him back with his hands, 
and the brown beard came away, showing a 
cleanly shaven face. Anthony held on to him 
with a grip of iron. Once more came the crash- 
ing of wood, and a grinding, jarring, sickening 
movement. Something heavy seemed to descend 
upon his head, and Anthony knew no more. 

lit :)c ^ H: 

When Edward Nugent entered the Hotel Me- 
tropolis, and turned, after saluting the clerk, to 


186 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


the elevator, he was astonished when the man 
called him. 

“Your brother left, sir, about twenty minutes 
ago. He gave up his key, and said he had been 
suddenly called away — that he might or might 
not return.^’ 

Edward Nugent looked at him with surprised 
inquiry on his face. 

“What are you saying — my brother left?^^ 

“Yes, sir — in company with another gentle- 
man.^^ 

“ Did he pay his bill ? 

“Yes, sir. Everything is satisfactory.’^ 

“ I can’t understand — did he leave no word of 
any kind for me ? ” 

“He said nothing but what I have told you.’^ 

Nugent looked dubious. 

“ Would you mind coming to his room with 
me? He did not intend to leave the city until 
next week — we were going together. This must 
be a strange freak on his part, and I can not un- 
derstand it. Surely he left a note or message 
of some kind — he was aware I would not know 
what to make of it ! ” 

The young man frowned as he spoke, and bit 
his lip.' But the anxiety of his tones was so 


AND aOD DISPOSES. 


187 


patent that the man came around from behind 
the desk and selected a key. 

We^ll go on upstairs, sir,” he said, if you wish 
it. But he said nothing to me — nothing at all. 
He looked rather pale, I thought, and the gentle- 
man with him — ” 

A gentleman with him ? ” 

Yes, sir, A tall gentleman with a brown 
beard. A cab was waiting, and they drove off at 
once.” 

^^What does it mean?” thought Edward Nu- 
gent. Surely not a return to the old life and 
the old ways after his promises of reform ! I can 
not understand.” 

A search of the room revealed that the depart- 
ure had been a hurried one. Some clothes were 
piled up on the bed, and a big sheet of paper 
pinned on top of them, bearing in Anthony’s 
scrawling hand the words To be forwarded.” 

^‘Send these things to my house,” said Edward 
Nugent, with a heavy heart, as he saw that 
Anthony had indeed left without a word to indi- 
cate his destination. The grave look that made 
the young man so much older in appearance than 
his years warranted settled on his fine face. He 
felt ten years older, in truth, as he walked slowly 


188 


Am GOD DISPOSES. 


toward the elevator. He could find no explana- 
tion of his brother’s conduct, save one — and that 
one the worst. Some partner in crime had called 
upon him for help, and he had not been able to 
resist the temptation. 

Edward Nugent never forgot that day. He 
went about his duties with that same gloomy as- 
pect. When it came time to return home, he de- 
layed until he knew that further dallying meant 
anxiety for his people. His footsteps fairly 
dragged; he could scarcely force his limbs to per- 
form their office. 

That you, Edward ? ” called his father’s voice 
from the parlor, as he let himself into the house. 

^‘Yes, dad,” he answered, doing his best to 
speak cheerfully. 

A telegram for you, my boy. Came about 
two hours ago, but I didn’t know where you 
were. It’s there on the hat rack.” 

With a great hope stirring in his breast Ed- 
ward Nugent picked up the yellow envelope and 
broke the seal. The next instant the room seemed 
to reel around him. 

Come at once. Anthony Nugent dangerously 
hurt.” 


AND GOD DI8P08E8. 


189 


^ Come at once. Anthony Nugent dangerously 
hurt.” 

Edward repeated the words mechanically. He 
could not grasp their meaning. He stood staring 
at them, scarcely realizing what they meant, try- 
ing his best to understand — trying in vain for 
a few moments. Old Dr. Nugent, hearing no 
further sound from the hall, came out of the 
parlor, newspaper in hand. 

I’ve been reading of a pretty bad railroad 
accident out near Portland — that’s somewhere 
near the Lestranges — why, Neddy, what’s the 
matter ? ” 

I don’t know,” said Edward. The telegram 
was crushed in his hand. The other hand was 
pressed against his forehead. 

Neddy, you’ve had some bad news? What is 
it?” asked the father. 

Let me think,” said Edward in a hoarse tone. 

He could not do that clearly. He asked him- 
self, as he walked into the parlor, his father fol- 
lowing him, what he ought to do in this dire 
emergency. Keep the news to himself until he 
ascertained the full truth of it, or tell his father 
now? He would never forgive him if Anthony 
were to die. 


190 


AND GOD DISPOSES. 


That last thought determined him. He put 
his hand on his father’s shoulder, and held him 
tightly. 

Dad,” he said, it is bad news — very bad 
news. Try to bear it — try to keep your wits 
about you until — 

^‘Anthony?” said the father, in a low voice. 

Anthony — ^yes.” 

He has gone back again — to — ” 

^^Dad, I don’t know. I went to the hotel this 
morning. He had disappeared without leaving a 
trace behind him, no word, nothing. I could not 
understand it then. Here is the telegram — I un- 
derstand it less now.” 

The father read the few words, dawning horror 
on his face. 

^^But, Edward, how — 

I can not tell you. We parted the best of 
friends, he and I — excellent friends. How this 
has happened, father — ” 

The words refused to come. 

We must go to him,” said the older man 
when he could command his voice. 

At once. Mother will think we are called 
somewhere together unless she sees — ” 


AlSfD GOD DISPOSES. 


191 


She will not see — she never reads accident 
reports. Neddy, let us start at once — I must see 
my boy.’’ 

All the pent-up longing of his heart spoke in 
those few words. Sorrowfully they made a few 
preparations and started on their journey. 


192 


POOR ANTHONY/ 


CHAPTER XII. 

POOR ANTHONY ! 

Roderio Lestrange had been spending the 
afternoon with his Aunt Claire, and it had been 
a particularly delightful time for him. In 
Claire’s presence all the petty annoyances of life 
seemed to take wings. While with her he could 
not remember that his father and mother totally 
disapproved of all his doings. Claire opened a 
new world to him — a world made doubly possible 
of entrance because of his means. His father 
gave him a liberal allowance. The pleasures that 
usually attract young men of wealth in the world 
had little fascination for a lad of so ideal a 
nature, so that he had much left for the work 
he loved. 

The news of the frightful railroad accident 
was being cried on the streets when he reached 
home. He bought a paper because he had caught 
the name Portland, and knew that it was near 
Lestrange. Among other items he read one that 
sent him white-faced to his own room: 


POOR AIJTH02^Yl 


193 


^^Frederic Lestrange, the owner of the beauti- 
ful estate which bore his name, had been one of 
the unfortunates in the parlor car. Mortally in- 
jured, he had been carried at once to his country- 
seat, which was only three-quarters of a mile dis- 
tant. No hope was entertained of his recovery.” 

The boy in Eoderic died during the few 
frightful moments that followed upon the read- 
ing of that brief announcement. He could not 
believe it. There must be some mistake. He 
went out to William. 

^^Have you seen my father this afternoon?” 
he asked. 

^^No, sir,” said the man. Eoderic, looking 
at him, knew that he knew, and his heart con- 
tracted. He did not realize that he was holding 
the paper crushed tightly in his hand. 

Where is my mother ? ” he asked then. 

^^In her room, I think, sir.” 

Eoderic turned abruptly and went up the 
stairs again. His face was grave, solemn, old. 
He knocked at his mother’s door, and her voice, 
which had lost none of its sweetness with the 
passage of the years, bade him enter. 

She was seated at he:c desk, writing a letter. 
She looked up at him. 


194 


POOR ANTHORYI 


What is it, Koderic ? I am busy/’ 

Oh, mother, I am sorry — he began. 

She glanced at him sharply, then sprang to her 
feet. She was a very lovely woman still: not 
a shadow on her face, not a white hair in the 
beautiful ebon locks. She came to her son’s side, 
and put her hand on his arm. 

Eoderic, what is the matter ? Are you ill ? ” 
he said, mechanically; ^^but — but — 
where is father ? ” 

Gone somewhere — out of the city — I don’t 
know where — What is the matter — ^your father 
is not — Eoderic, tell me at once. I demand 
to know.” 

There has been an accident near Lestrange. 
Father has been hurt.” 

^^Your father — hurt!” She stared at him. 

What do you mean ? ” 

J ust what I have said, mother. He is at Le- 
strange now. Don’t you think we had better go 
to him?” 

‘^Yes.” She shut her desk mechanically. 

Eoderic, there is no mistake? Who told 
you?” 

^^His name is mentioned in the newspaper as 
^mong the injured. uiay not be so seriously 


POOR ANTHONY/ 


195 


hurt, mother — ^you know how things are exag- 
gerated. At any rate, we^ll run out there. He 
may not really be hurt so much, and perhaps will 
come back with us.” 

Hot until afterward did either mother or son 
understand how Eoderic responded to the bur- 
den that had fallen upon his shoulders. He made 
arrangements for their journey, left directions 
for what was to be done during their absence, 
and told them he would telephone if it would be 
necessary to prepare for Frederic Lestrange’s 
return. He made as light of the accident as pos- 
sible, for he saw that his mother was in a fever 
of unrest, and he dreaded the result of this news 
upon her. 

Eoderic never forgot that journey. In an- 
other car on the same train were seated Edward 
Nugent and his father. They had had to wait 
two hours for this express. Eoderic did not 
know that the friends he cared for were so close 
to him, and bound on an errand as sad as his 
own. When they reached Portland, the cars 
could go no farther. All the passengers alighted. 
Even then Edward Nugent and Eoderic missed 
each other. A conveyance was found to take 
Eoderic and his mother to Lestrange, while the 


196 


POOR ANTHONY! 


Nugents sought the hospital where Anthony lay 
dying. 

It was true. Both men — father and son — re- 
alized the dreadful fact as they stood there and 
looked at the ghastly countenance. He recog- 
nized them, but speech came painfully. He held 
out his hand, and the father grasped it, and fell 
on his knees beside the bed, sobbing aloud. 

I thought they’d get you for me, father ! ” he 
said. I made them telegraph.” 

They telegraphed,” said Edward Nugent, 
gently. Anthony, has the priest been with 
you?” 

Yes. I’m dying, Neddy.” 

Dear old Anthony, dear brother, yes.” 

There was silence, broken only by the sobs of 
the elder man, who could not speak a word. 

^^I went to the hotel, and found you gone,” 
said Edward, pitifully. I could not understand. 
Where were you going, Anthony ? Oh, my brother, 
why did you not wait — why did you not wait ? ” 

Wait ? ” The blue eyes looked up at him lan- 
guidly. He — came — Dr. Stewart — and said 

you had sent for me — that you were at Lestrange 
on an intricate case. Of course — I went with 
bijn, I felt — ^hurt, N^ddy. But it’s over now— 


POOR ANTHONY/ 


197 


it’s over now. I thought you didn’t trust me. 
But — God — ^will. God knows I meant right.” 

The father lifted his head. The son stared 
with perplexed eyes into his brother’s face. 

^‘He is not raving, dad — he’s sensible. What 
can he mean?” He called a nurse near him: 

Get me this, please,” he said, scribbling some- 
thing on a slip of paper he tore from his note- 
book, and hurry.” 

She obeyed with alacrity. It was some mo- 
ments before she returned, and Edward Nugent 
sat with his finger on Anthony’s pulse. Pres- 
ently, when the nurse came, he prepared the 
stimulant he had ordered, and held it to his lips. 

You’ll be stronger in a moment, Anthony,” 
said Edward. “ Wait — I’ll lift you up.” He 
slipped his arm under the pillow, and rested 
the languid head on his shoulder. Now, old 
man, try to think what you are saying. I came 
straight from New York City. I spent this day 
in a state of great excitement, wondering why 
you had gone away — wondering what temptation 
could have been strong enough to come between 
us when we had planned such a splendid life to- 
gether. I called at the hotel — saw your clothes 
there — sent them home. What happened?” 


198 


POOR ANTHONY! 


He spoke slowly and distinctly. Anthony lis- 
tened with attention until he had finished. 

Neddy, I don’t know. A man came there 
after me this morning — said you had been sum- 
moned to a country town, and that you said I 
should follow. I thought you didn’t trust me. 
I went with him. His name was Stewart — he 
said. He was a doctor. 'V^Tiile we were in the 
train I asked him where we were going. He said 
Lestrange — I remember the name plainly.” 

He waited a moment — his voice had grown faint. 

The next isn’t quite clear. There was a crash. 
The man jumped up. I grabbed him — I think his 
beard — was false — I don’t know — ” 

The words trailed away into silence, the eyelids 
fluttered. Edward laid him down upon the bed 
again, and then both stood looking at him. Pres- 
ently he unclosed his eyes. 

My mother — I want — my mother !” 

The child’s cry always, though the years be great 
or few! Edward looked at his father with ques- 
tioning eyes. 

I think he’ll last — until morning, dad.” 

Yes, my son.” 

‘^I’ll send to Jessie — Jessie will tell mother. 
She must be with him v^hen he dies.” 


POOR ANTHOIJYt 


199 


We’ll keep him alive until she comes/’ said Dr. 
Nugent, quietly. 

Edward Nugent went out and sent a telegram. 
Then he came back again. The two men sat one on 
each side of the bed, watching their dying son and 
brother, administering the powerful stimulant as 
often as they found it necessary. They spoke oc- 
casionally. 

Father, do you understand it ? ” 

“ No.” 

^^What has Lestrange — that’s Eoderic’s home, 
you know— to do with us ? ” 

“ I can not understand, Neddy.” 

^‘Why did they try to get Anthony away? 
What did they mean to do with him ? ” 

Again I can not understand.” 

Toward daybreak Anthony turned on his pillow, 
and opened his eyes. 

Are you there, father? ” 

Yes, my son.” 

" Put your arms around me.” 

They are, my lad — ^they’ve been around you all 
night.” 

That’s good, father. Will mother come soon 
now ? ” 

Yes— you will see her.” 


200 


TOOK ANTHONY! 


Oh, 1 will not die until then ? I am glad. 
Keep me alive, if you can, until she comes.^^ 

Yes, my lad, we will.^^ 

^^IVe been thinking, lying here, that there’s 
more to this than we imagine. This hasn’t hap- 
pened by accident.” 

Oh, what does it matter how it happened, 
Anthony, my dear, dear boy !” 

God saw, perhaps, that I shouldn’t have been 
able to do better — out there. God knows.” 

It’s all over now, lad,” said the father, in a 
choked voice. 

Kot yet — not until the end. I’ve tried to make 
my peace — I wasn’t so bad, father, really. It was 
only that I couldn’t resist others — I had no will 
power. It would have been the same always.” 

“I don’t think so, Anthony. You would have 
been different with Neddy.” 

That’s so, too. Poor Neddy.” 

He relapsed into silence once more. Slowly the 
day began to dawn; slowly the light crept in 
through the shutters ; little by little the sun rose. 

" I’m glad I didn’t die last night,” whispered 
Anthony. ^Tt’s easier to die — this way.” 

They made him no answer — they could not. 

Father!” 


POOR ANTHONY! 


201 


^^Yes?” 

If you find that fellow — ^you know — 

Don’t do anything — let him be. I don’t know 
his reasons for bringing me out here — it’s a mys- 
tery. But, if ever you find them out, keep them 
to yourself. I want to die feeling that I have for- 
given every one. Will you remember that? ” 

Yes, dear boy. I’ll remember.” 

He moved uneasily. 

Lean closer to me, both of you,” he said. 
They bent over him. 

That money — you remember the money they 
said I stole — the money they sent me away for ? ” 
^^Anthony ! ” cried the father, in a heart-broken 
voice. 

I didn’t touch it — I had nothing to do with 
it — I was as innocent as you are at this moment 
of that crime. And though those fellows, the ones 
that swore against me, knew me, that was all. I 
had drifted into bad company, and I paid for 
it, father.” 

0 God in heaven, Anthony ! ” said the old 
man. Anthony — tell me — tell your father. 

Why did you say — ” 

A smile flickered over his pale face. 


202 


POOR ANTHONY! 


‘‘ he said; I\e forgiven all — every one. 
I shall not tell that. You — ^you believe me, 
father ? ” 

My son, indeed I do. Thank God for it, my 
dear, dear son.^^ 

If mother comes — ^too late — be sure she 
knows.” 

Yes — I will tell her. Oh, my boy, my boy, if 
only I had been wiser — if only I could have 
guessed ! ” 

They waited sorrowfully enough, watching the 
gray shadow slowly creeping across his counte- 
nance. Edward Nugent kept wiping the damp 
forehead, and glancing at his watch. He was be- 
ginning to grow afraid that they would not suc- 
ceed in keeping him alive until the mother came. 

They did not hear her enter. Jessie followed her, 
but the mother’s eyes sought that one couch where 
those two silent watchers kept vigil over her dying 
son. She did not say a word, but advanced to the 
bedside. Light as was her step he heard her, and 
his eyes opened. When he saw her face, he sprang 
up to a sitting posture, out of his father’s encir- 
cling hold, and smiled. 

Why, there is my mother ! ” he said, and his 
voice was full and strong. She clasped him in her 


POOR ANTHONY! 


203 


tender arms, and laid her cheek to his. His arms 
went about her neck. Jnst a second his strength 
held ont, jnst a second his dying ears heard her 
gentle, loving words. 

Then softly she put him back again upon the 
pillow, and with her own hands closed the sightless 
eyes; with her own hands folded his upon his 
breast, and stood then silent, looking down upon 
him, her gaze a prayer. She did not know that 
Jessie and the father and Edward were on their 
knees. She only knew that the son she loved had 
lived to die in her arms. 


204 


THE REVELATION, 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

THE REVELATION. 

to the Emergency Hospital at Portland, 
and find out how Anthony Nugent is. Do not tel- 
ephone — go. I want to be sure” 

When Frederic Lestrange recovered conscious- 
ness in his own home — which was not for some 
hours after the frightful accident — these were the 
first words that he spoke. The doctor was in at- 
tendance, and Joan Lester had taken charge of 
the sick-room. She was the old-time, decisive 
J oan, in spite of her more than seventy years, still 
virtual mistress of Lestrange. Other servants 
came and went, but under Joan’s regime it made 
no difference how frequent were the changes in 
the household that she loved. 

At first no one took any notice of this remark of 
Frederic Lestrange’s, being too concerned in as- 
certaining the extent of his injuries. He re- 
peated it, with some irritation at last, so they sum- 
moned a servant, and despatched him on the 
errand of inquiry. He returned two hours later. 


THE REVELATION. 


205 


Anthony Nugent’s father and brother are with 
him. He can not live until morning.” 

Something like satisfaction gleamed for an in- 
stant in Frederic Lestrange’s eyes. He turned to 
the physician at his side. 

^‘How about me ? Will I live ? ” 

The doctor looked at him. 

You want to hear the truth? ” 

That, of course,” impatiently. 

“ An operation would save you. It is very 
dangerous, and only possible if you submit at 
once.” 

Not a change in the handsome countenance. 

You mean that I shall die before morning if I 
do not go under the knife now ? ” 

Yes.” 

And I may die under it, anyhow ? ” 

Yes.” 

Well, I won’t have it.” He turned on his pil- 
low, groaning with pain. Then, after a moment, 
he spoke again. 

“ Go to the telephone and find out how Anthony 
Nugent is.” 

That was all. Around midnight his wife and his 
son Roderic entered. There was a pitiable scene 
yrhen Judith Lestrange saw her husband first, but 


206 


THE REVELATION. 


the approach of death awed even her. Frederic 
Lestrange held on to life grimly. 

I won’t die until I am sure of his death,” he 
said. 

Claire Lestrange read the news in the same edi- 
tion of the paper which had conveyed it to Koderic. 
The telegram that J oan sent to their city house ar- 
rived twenty minutes after the departure of the 
mother and son. Claire was dressing to call on 
them to learn the truth, when a summons came to 
her from J oan. 

Come,” said the message. There may be 
need of you.” 

And Claire obeyed. 

She met Jessie Nugent and her mother on the 
journey. In the morning they parted at Portland. 
When she arrived at that house in which she had 
known the greatest joy and sorrow of her life, J oan 
met her. 

Miss Claire,” she said, ^^you must forgive me 
for sending for you. But it may be that Frederic 
Lestrange will have something to say to you before 
he dies.” 

Claire looked at her musingly. 

I do not want to stay unless I can be of ser- 
vice,” she said. How is he ? ” 


THE REVELATION. 


207 


Fighting to live. There is a man at the hos- 
pital at Portland — a man named Nugent. He says 
he will not die until he does.’’ 

Claire looked at her, perplexed. She had heard 
from Mrs. Nugent that her son had been in the ac- 
cident, and that she was going now to his deathbed. 

What can he have in common with a man of 
that name ? ” she said. How does he know 
him?” 

Joan shrugged her shoulders. 

That I can not tell. Miss Claire.” 

The doctor approached them. 

Couldn’t his wife persuade him to submit to 
the operation ? ” asked Claire, turning to him. 

" She will not have it, either. It means death. 
She wants to keep him alive as long as she can.” 

" But there would be a chance — ” urged Claire. 

One in a thousand.” 

One in ten thousand has saved a man before 
now,” she said. The telephone bell rang. An in- 
stant later the servant who had been doing noth- 
ing all night but attending on that bell, passed 
through the room. 

"What is the message?” she asked. 

"Anthony Nugent is dead/’ 

" Your master is waiting for that message ? ” 


208 


THE KEY ELATION, 


Yes, madam.” The servant did not know this 
fair-haired lady in black, but he felt that she had a 
right to be there, and to speak in those quick, al- 
most imperious tones. 

“ Wait,” she said. She went to the telephone 
herself. ^'What is the hospital number ? ” It was 
given her. An attendant answered. 

Go to the ward where that accident case is just 
dead — ^the Nugent case. You will find two gentle- 
men there. Tell them that Frederic Lcstrange is 
dying, and that an operation may save him. The 
physician here says he has a chance. No; no 
answer. Tell them that.” 

The servant looked astonished as she turned to 
them once more. 

Dr. Nugent can perform miracles with a 
knife,” she said. There was a red spot on either 
cheek — ^the only sign of excitement that she be- 
trayed. ^‘Do not give that message to your master 
yet — not until they arrive. Try, instead, Joan, to 
get his wife away. Let me speak to her. If Kod- 
eric is there, bid him come too.” 

Joan went away immediately. Claire paced the 
floor in silence. Very soon Judith, followed by 
her son, entered the room. Claire turned to her 
and held out her hands, 


THE REVELATION. 


209 


My sister, I am sorry for you,” she said. 

The gentle words, the sweet face, the voice filled 
with sympathy, went straight to a heart wrung 
by great anguish for the first time in all her shel- 
tered life. She let Claire put her arms about her, 
and soothe her, and talk to her. Before the Nu- 
gents arrived she had won her consent. 

'^He will die without it,” was Claire’s reason- 
ing, ^^and may live with it. He will live if it is in 
man’s power to help him.” 

No time was lost. Young Dr. Nugent had been 
busy at other beds striving to drown his own grief, 
when Claire’s message came. Father and son left 
the hospital together, arrived at Lestrange, met 
Claire and the wife of the injured man, and heard 
the doctor’s report. Then they went up to the 
sick-room. 

Frederic Lestrange was conscious, but in great 
agony. 

Has no message come ? ” he said. Is there 
no one to tell me if Anthony Nugent lives ? ” 

There had been no time to say anything regard- 
ing this matter to Edward Nugent. He bent over 
the prostrate form. 

Anthony Nugent died an hour ago,” he said. 

Dead ! ” whispered Frederic Lestrange. He 


210 


THE REVELATION. 


shut his eyes. A satisfied expression stole across 
his face. He paid no attention to the preparations 
going on around him. At last he spoke again : 

I thought I heard Claire Lestrange’s voice.^^ 
‘^You did. She is downstairs.” 

I would like to see her.” 

There isn’t time,” said Edward Nugent, hesi- 
tatingly. ^^But go — ^go quickly.” Joan withdrew. 
Claire entered. She stood at the foot of the bed. 
Frederic Lestrange opened his eyes, and gazed up 
at her. 

Is that you, Claire ? ” 

“ Yes, Frederic.” 

Ah ! I have something to tell you.” 

To tell me?” 

Yes. ^ In God’s good time,’ you said, ^God 
would repay.’ Do you remember ? ” 

I do.” She went very white, and grasped at 
the foot of the bed. He raised his hand waver- 
ingly. 

All that you suspected was true. I convinced 
your husband that you never loved him — ^proved it 
to him.” 

Claire did not speak. 

He believed me — ^he could not help himself. I 
proved it to him, Claire. I made truth lie to him 


THE REVELATION. 


211 


to prove you a woman who had married for 
money.” 

Not a single word from her pale lips. 

I did more. I coveted the Lestrange acres and 
the Lestrange wealth. Your boy was not drowned. 
The body in the lake was that of Tommy Lester. 
Your boy was sent away with old Silas Wasdale, 
and adopted by Dr. Edward Nugent, of Abney- 
ville, who brought him up as his own. He was a 
thief and a forger. He served his time in prison, 
and — he — is — lying — dead — now — at — the — 
Emergency — Hospital — in Portland T 

There was silence in the room. It was a fright- 
ful silence. 

‘ In God^s good time,^ you said, Claire. Well, 
iCs God^s good time now, and I am ready.” 

He smiled. Claire’s lips moved, but no words 
came from them. She tried to swallow a little. 
Neither Dr. Nugent nor his son moved or spoke. 

It is God’s good time,” said a strange and hol- 
low tone then, and may God forgive you ! May 
God forgive you, Frederic Lestrange ! When you 
face Him, tell Him — ^tell Him that I — did.” 

No one could recognize Claire’s voice in those 
words. She turned blindly from the bed and from 
the room. Joan caught her by the arm and led 


212 


THE REYELATIOH. 


her out, closing the door behind her. The two Nu- 
gents, who had been standing as if galvanized, 
woke now to movement. A few seconds completed 
their preparations. Frederic Lestrange was lifted 
to the table which was to serve as operating-slab. 
Just before they began, Dr. Nugent touched his 
son^s arm. 

Shall I, Neddy?” 

The young man looked up at him. His brows 
were set, his lips tightly shut, his face old in its 
stern gravity. 

am a physician,” he said, ‘^about to do my 
duty. All else can wait.” 

All else did wait. Those two faithful men stood 
there, one on each side of that inert form. No eye 
could be keener, no hand truer, than the thin and 
sinewy one grasping the little knife. For over an 
hour, with Frederic Lestrange’s life hanging by 
a thread, they worked. When they had finished, 
they knew that it still hung by a thread, but that, 
if no unforeseen contingencies arose, the man 
would live. 

When he was placed back on his bed and the 
room cleared. Dr. Nugent spoke to the younger 
man once more. 

Neddy, will you tell her — now? ” 


THE REVELATION. 


213 


His voice trembled — ^there were tears in his 
eyes. 

If you like, father. Would you rather wait ? 

It would not be fair to her — ^laddie, what an 
awful state of mind for a man about to meet his 
God ! ” He sighed. And how she must have 
suffered ! ” 

J oan met them. 

Doctor,” she said, addressing the elder man, 
will you look at my Miss Claire ? ” 

We will both go to her,” said Dr. Nugent. 
Then Joan seemed to see, for the first time, the 
figure on the bed. 

‘^And he?” 

Will live, I hope and trust, to come to a better 
state of mind.” 

Joan shook her old gray head. 

The honor of the Lestranges ! ” she said. 
How I counted on it — and how it failed me !” 
Dr. Nugent put his hand on her shoulder. 

Was it you or he who sent for Miss Claire?” 

I, sir. I thought he would die — I knew about 
the empty grave, and felt that the truth would 
some day come to light. IVe been with the Le- 
stranges all my life — my own Miss Claire, God 
help her!” 


214 


THE REVELATION. 


God will,” said Edward Nugent, speaking for 
the first time. God will. Bring us to her now — 
and come with us.” 

Claire Lestrange was seated in the room that 
had been hers in the long-past days, which had 
never been inhabited by Frederic Lestrange’s wife, 
and which Joan had cared for in tender memory 
of the sweet woman she had loved so well. She 
had a strange look on her face. Neither of them 
had ever seen that look — ^but Joan knew it of old. 
Dr. Nugent went toward her, and put his hand 
upon her shoulder. 

My dear Mrs. Lestrange,” he said, very gently. 

She raised her eyes to his. 

It is true, I suppose,” she said, listlessly. ^^At 
least, if it is true, bring me back with you and let 
me see — ^my son.” 

The pathos in her quiet tones brought the tears 
to his eyes. 

" He told you what he thought was true, Mrs. 
Lestrange,” he said. ^^But he outstepped his 
knowledge. Tell me — would you like to hear the 
story from me ? 

She gazed up at him. What she saw in his face 
sent a convulsive thrill through her. 

I am all confused,” she said — ^^if you will only 


THE REVELATION, 


215 


disentangle the threads for me. My boy — ^my little 
Eoderic — did not die?^^ 

No. From what he said, he must have had 
him stolen away. I remember once hearing you 
mention Silas Wasdale. He had a grandson, An- 
thony.” 

She bowed her head. 

I was born and brought up in Abneyville — all 
my children were born there. My little daughter 
Eegine was only a baby of six months, when I was 
sent for by one Bernard Wasdale to attend two 
people ill with fever at his house. The man, who 
was Bernard’s brother, Silas, recovered quickly. 
The child was very ill. When he grew better, I of- 
fered to adopt him. He wouldn’t give him. 
Later on he left him to his brother’s care. What 
happened after that I do not know, but in the end 
the brother and his wife came to me, and told me I 
could have the child for a consideration. I paid 
it, and took him. He was called then Anthony 
Wasdale. I already had a son Anthony, so I had 
my new boy given conditional baptism, calling him 
Edward after myself, with Anthony as a middle 
name. Frederic Lestrange must have discovered 
the truth, mistook my own poor lad for the nephew 
he had tried to get rid of, and managed to bring 


216 


THE REVELATION. 


him here where he — ^met his death/^ For the first 
time the old man’s voice faltered. The dead An- 
thony, madam, is not your son — instead I give 
your son to you alive and well.” 

She stared at him, wistfully, longingly. 

What do you mean ? ” 

^^That Edward Nugent is the boy whom I 
adopted, and, according to all that I have heard, 
your own child ! ” 

The young man leaned forward in his chair, 
suddenly boyish of feature, youthful of mien. 

My mother !” he said, softly. 

Dr. Nugent rose to his feet, and left the room. 
Joan followed. The tears were streaming down 
her face. 


THE TWO R0DERI08. 


217 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE TWO RODERICS. 

Another mother and another son were seated in 
the room adjoining Frederic Lestrange^s. Rod- 
eric and Judith, lingering at the back of the 
apartment, had heard the hideous story from the 
lips of the man who they thought was dying. The 
horror of it had made Roderic sick at heart. 

‘^You understood that story, mother?^’ he 
asked, impetuously. 

The beautiful Judith looked at him. 
understood — ^yes.’^ 

« And 

There is no and.” 

Mother!” 

am glad that he took care of your future, 
my son. You will be master of this place — ^he al- 
ways meant you to be that.” 

‘^Mother,” said Roderic, again, in an agonized 
whisper, " are you mad ? ” 

No, I am not mad.” 

‘‘Then think — think! Think how terrible it 


218 


THE TWO RODERICK. 


is ! Why, he is a murderer — my father is a mur- 
derer ! Think of it, mother !” 

His voice had a thrill of horror in it. She sat 
staring at him, a little wonderingly, it seemed to 
the boy. 

I would not look at it like that — there will be 
lots of time afterward to blame him. Just now, 
only try to remember that he is dying, and that 
he is your father and my husband.” 

0 mother !” he sobbed. He put his arms 
around her and hid his face on her bosom. Moth- 
er, it has taken all feeling away from me. I shall 
never feel again.” 

‘^Poor Eoderic!” She touched his fair head 
softly. Then after a little while she said : 

“ Has your religion taught you how to pray ? ” 

^^Yes, mother.” 

1 should like you to pray. Somehow it seems 
to me that, if you, or any one, would pray, there 
might be some chance for him. Pray, Eoderic.” 

Without a word he drew himself away from 
her, and slipped down on his knees beside her 
chair. She sat back and said nothing more, al- 
though the broken words falling from his lips 
seemed to satisfy her sense of helplessness. She 
stared straight before her, listening quietly. In a 


THE TWO R0DERIC8. 


219 


little while the trembling voice ceased, and her 
boy buried his head in her lap, and sat very silent. 
A half-hour passed. At the other end of the hall 
the man they loved was lying helpless in the hands 
of science. Presently Eoderic raised his head, 
and seized his mothers beautiful fingers in a 
feverish clasp. 

‘^Listen to me,^^ he said. ‘‘Mother, do you 
care for me ? 

“ My son,^’ she whispered, “you know I do.’^ 

“And my father? You love him even better 
than you love your children ? 

She hesitated — then the woman awoke in her. 
Through the calm of her face there broke an ex- 
pression of intensest agony. 

“0 Godr she said. 

“ Then listen to me,^’ he said, tenderly. “ I\e 
been wondering what God meant me to do with 
my life, dear mother. I know. I will dedicate 
it to His service, if He will save my father now.” 

“ Roderic — ” 

“ I should have answered the call, I am positive, 
ere long,” he went on. “ Mother, join with me — 
make the sacrifice holy. A mother can. You 
know how — you know how. Promise to give me 
up willingly if God will save him.” 


220 


THE TWO RODERICK, 


0 my child, it is all in your hands, not in 
mine/^ 

No, no; it is in yours, too/’ 

priest?” she said, a little wonderingly. 

Could you be as brave as that, Roderic ? ” 

‘^Yes, dear mother. I feel that God is calling 
me. He has been calling me right along, but I 
did not realize it. I did not realize it until I 
knelt there, and tried to pray, to ask — this favor. 
Mother, he must not die like that.” 

If he lives, he will never consent. He will 
disown you.” 

‘^That would complete the sacrifice. Only say 
you will help me.” 

For a moment she looked down into his plead- 
ing eyes. Then she shivered. 

^Tt is an awful life, my darling boy — a cold, 
dreary, comfortless life.” 

He smiled. 

“ I wish you knew that life, mother — or the life 
of any Catholic. Poor mother, to be without the 
faith! It is being deprived of the greatest good 
on earth!” 

She shook her head. She had never felt the 
need of this good of which he spoke, and she 
scarcely understood all that Roderic’s resolution 


THE TWO ROHERICS. 


221 


meant. To her tlie Catholic faith was cold and 
barren, stern and rigorous. Her husband had 
never practised it, and in her opinion it had made 
a Don Quixote of her son. But now, with the 
father’s life weighing in the balance, with human 
aid almost helpless, her nature craved that appeal 
to a Higher Power. Eoderic had always been 
different — that Higher Power would listen to 
Eoderic now. 

When old Dr. Nugent left the lad whom he had 
loved as his own with his mother, he came out 
into the corridor. Here young Eoderic Lestrange 
found him. There was a new look on the ideally 
handsome face, a curious glow in the blue eyes. 

^‘Will my father live?” he asked. 

Dr. Nugent placed his hand kindly on his 
shoulder. 

^^That rests in God’s hands.” 

They said the operation was a success.” 

‘^It was — as operations go. If nothing hap- 
pens now, your father will live. But he will be 
months recovering.” 

Yet there is a chance ? ” 
strong chance.” 

"I will tell my mother — she is only waiting 
your word to go to him. My mother and father 


222 


THE TWO RODERICK. 


are — greatly devoted to each other.” Eoderic 
choked back a sob There can be no harm if 
she attends him now?” 

No harm, dear boy. From what I see of her, 
she is strong enough — and women are mountains 
of strength where those they love are concerned. 
Let her go to him — and only her. Even you must 
stay away. There must be no disturbing influ- 
ence.” 

Eoderic hesitated. “Will you wait for me here 
until I see my mother?” 

Dr. Nugent nodded. 

The interview between son and mother was 
brief. In a few seconds he rejoined the father of 
his dearest friend. They paced in silence along 
the corridor and down the stairs and out to the 
stone steps, and stood there long without exchang- 
ing a word. 

“Well, boy?” said Dr. Nugent, at last. 

His eyes had filled. He knew, better than words 
could tell him, what was passing in the mind of 
this truly noble youth. He felt what a shock that 
father’s words must have been to his high sense 
of honor. He knew the struggle that must be 
raging in his young heart. 

“ From what my father said — from what I can 


THE TWO R0DERIC8. 


223 


learn — it must have been through him that the 
man he called Anthony Nugent met his death.” 
Eoderic spoke quite calmly. 

Anthony Nugent forgave him before he died,” 
said the older man. 

You mean Eoderic Lestrange, my cousin, for- 
gave him.” 

^^No. I mean my own dear boy, Anthony.” 

Eoderic stared at him. 

He was not your son, really.” 

He was my son, really.” 

Eoderic Lestrange shook his head. 

I don’t understand — this has so upset me. 
I can not realize where I am or what has happened. 
I knew the outlines of Aunt Claire’s story — and 
when my father said those few words to-day the 
facts gripped me. I saw it all — yes, all. I com- 
prehended that my father had been guilty of a 
great crime. In the very beginning, in order to 
take away — this,” he waved his hand about him 
in a gesture that included all Lestrange, ^^from 
that poor little boy who was its rightful owner. 
He learned his plans had miscarried — he found 
out that you had taken that poor lad as your own, 
that he had been — ^unfortunate — and then — oh, I 
can not say it ! How did he and Anthony happen 


224 


THE TWO R0DERIC8. 


to be on the same train? It was not chance 
— my father must have brought it about. What 
was his intention ? 

Eoderic shuddered violently, frightfully. 
Anthony told us all before he died.^’ 

^^Yes? He told you, then, that my father — 
Some one called on him, saying that his 
brother Edward had been summoned to Lestrange, 
and that he wanted him to follow at once. I do 
not believe your father meant to harm him. I be- 
lieve he meant to conceal him somewhere in Le- 
strange, once he got him here.” 

To all intents, my father murdered him.” 

‘^Boy, do not speak so harshly. You do not 
know the greatest event of all. In that room yon- 
der, where once your Aunt Claire realized the 
death of her only child, her child has been re- 
stored to her.” 

Eoderic could only stare at him in wonder. 

^‘Anthony Nugent was my boy — my own poor 
boy. Your cousin Eoderic was my adopted son, 
whom you have known always as Edward Nugent.” 

For an instant the young man stood stunned. 

"Edward!” he cried. "Edward my cousin? 
Oh, it isnH true. Dr. Nugent — it can’t be true ! ” 

" But it is,” repeated Dr. Nugent. "I called him 


THE TWO RODERICS. 


225 


after myself at his conditional baptism. After- 
ward, when your father recovers, perhaps he will 
be better able to clear np the mystery surrounding 
him. That Silas Wasdale brought a child to Ab- 
neyville I know, for I attended him. Even then 
the singular beauty of the boy attracted me be- 
yond words. Silas said he was his grandson. Af- 
terward he deserted him, and I adopted him. 
Until Frederic Lestrange’s speech to-day his ori- 
gin was shrouded in mystery. And one thing 
more — ’’ 

The fine face kindled, the fine eyes gleamed. 

^Tf your father is living at this moment, if he 
recovers from his illness, he owes life and recov- 
ery to the hand of the lad whom he sought to 
destroy.” 

Eoderic grasped at the stone balustrade. 

^‘^In God’s good time,’ my father said, — fin 
God’s good time !’ How, in His good time. He 
guides events, and brings them to an issue!” 

The mournfulness of his voice touched the 
older man. 

My boy,” he said, we do not know why the 
Lord permits certain temptations. Your father 
has lived an honorable life — ” 

said Eoderic; ^^he has not. But if 


226 


THE TWO R0DERIG8, 


mine can make atonement — if mine will — ^if mine 
wilir 

He said the last words under his breath, stand- 
ing gazing out across the broad Lestrange domain, 
with eyes whence all boyishness had fled. 

Will you let me stay here a little while alone ? 
he said then. Afterward, if my cousin Eoderic 
will come to me — 

Dr. Hugent withdrew. He respected the great 
sorrow that this young fellow was enduring now. 
His father’s death he could have borne, and 
learned surcease of pain from time. But his fath- 
er’s dishonor was unbearable. The pain of it would 
never leave his young soul — would cast its shadow 
over all his life. It was to teach him much, too, 
for that future, when young Father Lestrange be- 
came known as ^^a priest after God’s own heart.” 

He did not comprehend the fleeting of the 
hours. When the mother and son, now so happily 
united, had talked over that long and sorrowful 
story of the past; when she had shown him, with 
tears in her eyes, the picture of his baby face 
which she always wore above her heart; when she 
had described his father, and told him of the cru- 
elty that had parted their loving souls — then, and 
not until then, did both realize that they were in- 


THE TWO R0DERIC8. 


227 


deed alive and in a material world. How proud she 
was of him ! How her eyes rested on him ! How 
tenderly her fingers touched his brown head I 
How she brought the yellow clustering curls she 
had treasured so long, and laid them against his 
darker hair for contrast, and smiled, and cried 
over them, in mother fashion. They knew they 
were each other’s, and the love of her heart gushed 
forth to meet her son’s reverent affection. 

The day was well spent when a knock came at 
the door. J oan had come in hours before, bringing 
them their lunch. She, too, had heard the story, 
and it was with a strange gladness on her face 
that she insisted on waiting on them — her Miss 
Claire and the boy she had loved. No other eye 
but one so tender dare intrude on this sacred first 
meeting of those two. But lunch had been well 
over when this second knock came, and it was Dr. 
Nugent himself who entered in answer to Claire’s 
bidding. He gazed in silence at her happy face. 
Almost as if by magic the blue eyes had lost their 
shadows and the mouth its saddened lines. He 
understood what great loveliness this woman must 
have had in her gay and winsome youth. 

have come to remind you both that this is 
not heaven,” he said, smiling. 


228 


THE TWO RODERICS. 


What a grand old man he was! That day the 
one who had been the object of his solicitude and 
prayers so many years was lying in his last sleep ; 
that day his father-heart had been wrung with 
anguish; that day he had seen another cherished 
son claimed by one who after this would have first 
right to him. Less than a mile away the woman 
whom he had loved for nearly forty years was 
bowed in anguish over her loss. It was his right 
to be with her. Every thought of his heart went 
out to her; he was impatient to see her, to com- 
fort her. And yet duty held him to his post. 
^^Nedd}^” would be in no condition to attend the 
man whose life was in their hands, and until then 
he could not leave him. 

^'It is what I anticipated of heaven if ever I 
reached there,” said Claire Lestrange, humbly, 
and yet joyously too, in answer to his remark. 

You have had a few hours to yourselves,” he 
went on, gently; ^^and now, although I do not 
like to do so, I feel that I must recall you to a 
sense of duty. Neddy — ^he can never be anything 
but Neddy to me, Mrs. Lestrange — ^you must come 
and look at our patient. Your mother is at Port- 
land, you know, and will need me, so that I must 
leave as soon as I can. One thing more — I told 


THE TWO R0DBRIC8, 229 

his wife she could attend him, but I think it would 
be better if your — mother/^ he paused and half- 
smiled. “ It will be a bit of a puzzle until I get 
affairs straightened out/^ he went on then. 
‘‘Thafs two mothers IVe given you in the same 
breath. At any rate, it will be well if Mrs. Le- 
strange leaves the house altogether, and his own 
son, Roderic. You can give directions to Dr. Burt 
for the first few days — even you must not let him 
see you.” 

I understand, father,” said Edward Nugent, 
or Roderic Lestrange, as we must begin to call 
him, nodding. ‘‘ I will go with you directly — and 
after that will take charge alone. Perhaps it 
would be well if my mother went with you now,” 
he said. She may be of some help to you all at 
Portland.” 

Yes,” said Claire, with alacrity. 

Before you go, see that boy of his and talk to 
him. He is heart-broken,” said Dr. Nugent. 

I will go to him while you are busy, Roderic,” 
said Claire. 

Do, mother,” he answered, gently. 

But strange as it may seem, in spite of his great 
affection for Claire Lestrange, and in spite of the 
fact that he felt that he could never make up to 


230 


THE TWO R0DERIC8. 


her for the sorrow his father had caused her, Fred- 
eric’s son was not waiting for her — rather for the 
friend, who would always be his friend first, his 
cousin afterward. 

And by-and-hy the friend came, and they had 
a precious half-hour to themselves. There was 
much interchange of thought then, and outpour- 
ings of confidence from both. They parted ten- 
derly — the better for that interview, and the hap- 
pier for it. Eoderic the younger decided, after 
making arrangments with his mother, that he 
would go at once to the city and take charge of 
his father’s business affairs, also calling on the 
Dacres, and giving them messages from Claire. 

But only to his friend and cousin did Eoderic 
speak of the resolution that had formed in his 
heart — the resolution to dedicate his life to the 
service of God. 


THE END, 


231 


CHAPTEK XV. 

THE END. 

Many weary weeks followed — ^weeks in which 
Frederic Lestrange’s life hung in the balance, 
saved only by the unerring skill and great devo- 
tion of Claire Lestrange’s son. He found time to 
go to Portland, and pay a last visit to Anthony 
Nugent, to bid him a last farewell. The body was 
to be taken to Abneyville, and buried in the grave- 
yard attached to the little church, where the boy 
had received his first communion and been con- 
firmed. 

It was the first bereavement in the Nugent fam- 
ily, and it seemed to affect every one of them to 
a great degree. They resolved not to write to 
Regine until all was over. The old friends who 
had known and loved them flocked to them from 
all sides. The two brothers in the city cast aside 
all thoughts of business, and went with their fam- 
ilies to Abneyville. All that makes a death sacred 
and holy was observed, and at the Requiem Mass 
the old priest mounted the steps of the pulpit to 


232 


THE END. 


say a few words over the dead man. The words 
were indeed few, but they were pointed. 

‘‘Anthony Nugent left us under a cloud, he 
said, “suspected of a crime. Lying on his death- 
bed, fortified by the last rites of the Church, with 
Christas sacred body in his breast, he declared his 
innocence of that crime. It is a comfort to be- 
lieve those words of his. It does not matter now 
who was really guilty, but it is a good thing for 
us, who know and respect his people to understand 
that he suffered that penalty for another.^^ 

The words created quite a stir, and afterward 
much talk, and there were many to say they had 
always believed in the boy’s innocence; that he 
was not as strong-minded as his brothers, and 
his sympathies were more easily played upon. It 
began to be rumored around that some woman, the 
wife of the man who had committed the crime, 
came praying to him to save her husband from 
disgrace, her children from infamy. Some, again, 
said that this woman had gone to Father Eeynolds 
herself with the story, telling him all, and that 
that was the reason he had made that announce- 
ment. Later the rumor was confirmed, and Dr. 
Nugent and his wife heard the whole tale from 
the lips of the woman concerned in it. But be- 


THE END. 


233 


yond that brief announcement from the priest, 
nothing was ever done to clear Anthony Nugenf s 
name. He had made the sacrifice willingly — and 
his father would not take away one tithe of it — 
letting it stand before God as atonement for 
whatever the poor lad might have done later 
against His holy laws. 

When Frederic Lestrange recovered suffic- 
iently, he was sent away to Italy fully to regain 
his health. Claire Lestrange did not see him 
before he left, and no one went with him but his 
wife. To her love and care he owed much during 
the months that followed. To her love, also, Eod- 
eric, who had been Edward, left the breaking of 
the truth. 

. She did it — and when she did it, many months 
afterward, he returned at once to see the man and 
woman he had wronged. 

The need of Claire was so imperative that she 
could not bring herself to give up any of her work, 
so that the old-time conditions still obtained. The 
Nugents were bound closer to the Dacre house- 
hold, that was all. Claire was still with them — ^her 
boy with those who had been so truly his parents. 
Eoderic Lestrange had made arrangements to be 
received at the seminary, and only awaited the re- 


234 


^HE END. 


turn of his father to leave home for the life he 
had chosen. 

Thus matters stood when Frederic and his 
wife Judith came back to settle their affairs, and 
to do justice to those to whom justice was due. 
He made few explanations, enough to clear up all 
that was mysterious. The signed attestation of 
the old grave-digger, which Joan sent on, was not 
needed. He himself told how they had taken 
Tommy Lester’s body from the grave, and dressed 
it in young Eoderic’s clothes, and of how An- 
thony Wasdale had carried off the real heir. Of 
Anthony Wasdale nothing ever was heard again. 
He was probably killed in the wreck, and buried 
among the unknown dead in a grave at Port- 
land. 

Frederic Lestrange had not changed any — 
that his son knew, looking at the proud face, ob- 
serving the haughty manner. Forced to give up 
that to which he had never been entitled, he had 
not yet learned humiliation. Roderic asked him- 
self, wonderingly, if he would ever learn it. 

To the very end he carried matters with a high 
hand. They could do as they pleased — he had 
had all that he had asked of life to make him 
happy. Claire knew him of old, and had no com- 


TNE END. 


235 


ment to make. For his boy’s sake, whom he loved, 
Claire’s son kept the contempt that he felt from 
face and voice. 

And so, without comment or questioning, with- 
out blare or clamor, quietly and easily, Claire and 
her son came into their own again. 

Frederic Lestrange apologized to the young man 
who had saved his life, regretting suavely that he 
had caused him so much trouble. He listened to 
Roderic when he told him his intention of study- 
ing for the priesthood — sneered a little, in his old- 
time way, and said nothing. Perhaps that manner 
of his was but assumed for the occasion — they, 
with charity in their hearts for all, made it as 
easy as possible for this man whose plans God had 
frustrated in His own good time. The part that 
Judith Lestrange played in it all seemed trifling, 
but afterward they understood how she had urged 
and prayed of him to do what was right, for her 
sake, whom surely he had wronged as bitterly as 
any among them. So he agreed. He was glad of 
it — afterward — when he did not marvel at his own 
audacity. 

Regine was home with her Paul Delmar, and 
the day came when he won father’s and mother’s 
consent to her marriage with him. That night 


Odd 


THE ENiD. 


there was a festive gathering at their nome. On 
the morrow Roderic was to leave them. And while 
the}?" sat, talking over the wonderful events of the 
year that had just passed, the new master of Le- 
strange drew Jessie Nugent away from those they 
loved, and held her hands, and looked into her 
eyes. 

Jessie,^^ he said, with great gentleness, ^^will 
you tell me who is your Paul Delmar ? 

She shook her head. 

I can not, Neddy,’’ she answered, using the 
pet name that had been her father’s, and that they 
had always loved. 

You mean you will not ? You remember I 
asked you that question once before, and you re- 
fused to — ” 

" I wish you would not harp upon that subject, 
Neddy.” 

But, my dear girl, I must ; for you see, Jessie, 
I love you — ^have always loved you — loved you 
when we were growing up together. I did not find 
out what sort of love it was until you left us to 
study music. But I found it out then, dear — I 
did, indeed. And I’ve been waiting for you ever 
since.” 

She smiled a little. 


THE END. 


237 


It does not seem like you to hesitate — so long,” 
she said. 

If there is a Paul Delmar for you, why then, 
you see — ” 

Oh, hush !” she whispered, softly. ^^If you 
were not blind — oh, so blind, Neddy! — ^you could 
have known it ages ago.” 

Then it is I, dear ? ” And his voice trembled 
as he put his arms about her ; it is really I ? ” 

Eeally you — really, really you/* she answered. 

The rest doesn’t really, really matter now, does 
it? There was so much to be explained; and so 
much to talk about — from the day that her father 
had brought him home and she had shared her cake 
with him; their nightly salutations — ^^Good-night, 
little girl,” Good-night, little boy,” which had 
been the amusement of the family for years, until 
they were grown up, and Jessie left them to finish 
her education. And then he had to tell how he 
feared she had left a lover in France — how could a 
girl so altogether beautiful ! — and sweet ! — and 
good ! — not have a hundred lovers ? And then she 
told of how she had suffered when she heard he 
meant to go to California — she knew it was with 
Anthony — fearing that he would never grow to 
care for her so far away. And after all that was 


238 


THE END. 


told, there was so much more to tell. And then 
to make the announcement to the home circle, 
which Claire’s son did at once, leading Jessie 
by the hand to the two mothers, who needed no 
second glance to tell them what had happened. 

They have been many years married now, and 
Claire Lestrange is a grandmother. The Dacres 
and she are still pursuing their noble work. In 
God’s good time all was restored to her — the 
hope, the love of the long-past, seemingly fruit- 
less years. And she was happy. 

Eegine went back to France with her artist- 
husband, and the following year Jessie and the 
new Roderic Lestrange went to visit her while 
on their honeymoon. It was whispered then that 
the Lestrange preparing for Holy Orders had 
succeeded in making a convert of his mother. 
If that were true, they knew that in time his 
father would resume the practice of the religion 
he had always ignored. It was, perhaps, the in- 
sight she had had into the lives of these truly 
Catholic people that first helped the wife of 
Frederick Lestrange to receive the light of faith. 

So, in God’s good time, they lived out their 
happy, useful lives, and were content. 

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7 


o so 
A. A. 


so 

00 


I 00 
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0 75 
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net, 

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Bertha; or, Consequences of a Fault. 

Better Part. 

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Bric-a-Brac Dealer. 

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Canary Bird. Canon Schmid. 

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Dimpling’s Success. Clara Mulholland. 

Episodes of the Paris Commune. 

Every-Day Girl, An. Mary C. Crowley. 

Fatal Diamonds. E. C. Donnelly. 

Finn, Rev. F. J., S.J.: 

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That Football Game. 

The Best Foot Forward. 

Ethelred Preston. 

Claude Lightfoot. 

Harry Dee. 

Tom Playfair. 

Percy Wynn. 

Mostly Boys. 

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Fred’s Little Daughter. Sara Trainer Smith. 


o 45 
o 4S 
o 45 
o 4S 
o 40 
O 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 25 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 25 
o 45 
o 45 
o 25 
o 45 
o 2S 
o 40 
o 45 
O 45 
o 45 
o 85 
o 85 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 
o 45 

0 25 

1 00 
o 8s 
o 85 
o 8s 
o 85 
o 8s 
o 85 
o 8s 
o 85 
o 45 
o 75 

Maurice 
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o 45 


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IT 


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25 

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By 

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